


Chuck Vs the Alien Colonists

by vandevere



Category: Chuck (TV), The X-Files
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3609756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vandevere/pseuds/vandevere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Casey is harboring a dangerous secret</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Washington DC, 2000 AD_

Knowle Rohrer is exhausted, out of energy, out of hope, out of time. Back in '96, he had discovered that a clone of some sort had been made of him. That clone-a Super Soldier-had been sent to kill him and take his place in the DOD. Rohrer had, of course, taken this to his superiors, only to learn that they, too, had been replaced; either with yet more Super Soldiers, or the Alien Master Shape Shifters who commanded the Super Soldiers. The only option left to Rohrer was flight.

Since then, Knowle Rohrer has been forced into hiding; his family, home, and career lost to the monster that happens to wear his face. All Rohrer can do is keep low, eke out a precarious living out on the margins of society; a far cry from the life he had originally envisaged for himself.

On the other hand, he has learned paranoia, that lesson sunk deep into his bones. After all, there really are people out to get him. So, whenever he goes out, he has learned to scan for anyone who might possibly be hostile.

He has also learned to appreciate Fox William Mulder, with his constant warnings about the coming Alien Invasion. Not that Mulder's approach to the problem helped much…

But, being paranoid has helped keep Rohrer safe.

While out today, he got this spine-tingling sense of being watched, of someone following him. So, he fled, as quietly as possible, for anything which might offer some form of security.

Now, he is hiding in a decrepit ruin of a warehouse, not actually sure he was being followed in the first place.

He's a wreck, now, and he knows it. His current appearance would be enough to dissuade the average citizen from approaching him. His hair, once kept in military regulation trim, is now a mess of tangled curls stopping just shy of his shoulders. What with that, the equally scruffy beard, and the shabby, smelly clothes that comprise his attire nowadays, he's quite honestly surprised the police haven't picked him up on vagrancy charges yet.

A small mercy, that.Rohrer is certain that a stint in a jail cell would lead  _them_ to him; and, after that…

_Goodnight Irene_ …

_Story over_ …

Temporarily safe, in this ruin of a warehouse, he leans his head back against a wall, seeking a few minutes of respite from the nightmare his life has become, a few minutes of sleep…

It's the squeaky, rusty sound of the warehouse door sliding open that jolts him back into panicky wakefulness. An intruder stands in the doorway, outlined by the sunlight of early afternoon.

There is only the one-male, roughly Rohrer's own height and weight. Rohrer's hands clench into tight fists, as he continues to watch from his hiding place. The stranger advances carefully, silently, stealth and grace in his movements. The man has to be an Agent of some sort or other.

_They've found me_!

Rohrer puts his own training in stealth to use, as he creeps carefully to a stack of crates. Peering around the crates, he looks at the intruder. The man is powerfully built, moves like a trained fighter. Dark of hair and skin, Rohrer realizes the stranger is actually not a stranger. Rohrer knows him; knows him well, in fact…

The shock of that realization brings Rohrer to his feet, adrenaline flooding his system, ready to fight or flee, heart hammering in his chest. For his part, Ty Bennet relaxes and smiles.

"There you are," he says. "I've been looking for you."

"Sensei..?" Rohrer can't believe it. He can't bring himself to hope that the years of hiding might be over.

_Sensei...are_ you... ** _you_**?

"It's all right, Knowle," the other man surely senses his doubts. "I'm not with them. General Beckman sent me."

"Beckman…" the name is a new one to Rohrer. "Do you trust him?"

Bennet smiles, a touch impishly…

"I believe you will find General Beckman to be eminently trustworthy," he says. "Are you ready to go?"

"Go…" caution grips Rohrer. "Go where?"

"To meet General Beckman," Bennet explains patiently. "That's the first step in helping you to disappear."

"Disappear…" Rohrer repeats the word; not at all certain he likes the notion of being…disappeared…

But, he is tired, beyond belief; running out of options and places to hide.

Besides, if they have Ty Bennet, then this- _war_? _invasion_?-is truly lost, and there is no freedom, or peace, to be had this side of death…

So, he allows Ty Bennet to guide him back outside, where an anonymous black van awaits. Because Rohrer is hungry-he hasn't eaten in two days-they stop at the first fast food place they see.

It's an odd little place, the Weinerlicious, but Rohrer gets a Jumbo Weiner with the Works, fries, and a large black coffee. To him, right now, it's a feast. Bennet rolls his eyes, mutters something about msg, and biochemical balance, but Rohrer is too damned hungry to care.

Belly full, Rohrer looks out the tinted window, as the van heads out of the city. All that food, and, now he's suddenly drowsy. He hasn't had a good sleep in ages, and the engine's rumble lulls him into sleep…

He jerks awake to silence. It's dark outside, and the van is parked by yet another decrepit warehouse. Bennet is still at the wheel, regarding him calmly.

"I didn't want to awaken you," he explains. "You needed your sleep."

Rohrer nods. He does feel better now; more alert, less scrambled in his mind.

"How long did I sleep?" he asks.

"About nine hours," Bennet opens the driver side door. "We're here."

Rohrer takes a moment to finger-comb his hair and beard, restoring a semblance of order. Then, he follows Bennet into the warehouse. He can't help shivering as the warehouse door slides creakily shut behind them; the possibilities of betrayal always on his mind nowadays…

Once the door is closed, several lights come on, bathing the area in brilliance, revealing several men wearing suits and ties; and one woman, wearing the uniform and insignia of a General in the Air Force.

_Me and my big mouth_ , _making assumptions like that_. _I should know better_ …

Rohrer comes to attention, snaps a brisk salute.

"At ease," Beckman looks him over, features impassive. "You seem to be somewhat the worse for wear."

"Ah…Yes, ma'am…" Rohrer falters momentarily.

_Why am I here_?

"You must be wondering why I had Agent Bennet bring you here," apparently Beckman's a telepath, on top of everything else.

"Yes, ma'am," Rohrer nods.

  "Well…" she starts citing facts. "You have been ousted from your home and career, by what is commonly described as a Super Soldier. Since then, you have been forced into hiding, leading a homeless existence. In short, right now, you are completely helpless, and useless."

"Yes, ma'am," what else could he say to that? Beckman's analysis of his situation was accurate; devastatingly so…

"However," Beckman continues briskly. "We have a security problem that may well prove to be your salvation. Are you familiar with the name, Major John Casey?"

Rohrer shakes his head. Back in DOD, he  _had_ seen the name a few times, always in association with the NSA, but that's it, as far as his knowledge goes…

"He served in the NSA for several years, with distinction and honor," Beckman says. "Then, he went rogue, and joined FULCRUM. Since then, his employment with us has been…shall we say…terminated."

_He was killed_ , Rohrer translated silently.

"But what has that got to do with me?" he asks aloud.

At Beckman's nod, one of the suits hands him a folder. He looks through the files; a standard bio of a spy in the NSA. It's the accompanying photo that catches him by surprise…

"You're fucking kidding me…" the words are out before he can think of what he's saying.

"Either this is an amazingly serendipitous co-incidence," Beckman agrees. "Or you were twins separated at birth. Either way, we find we have great need of you. Before his death, the late, unlamented Major was known to be in contact with several agents of FULCRUM. We've kept the Major's death a secret…"

"You want me to take the Major's place."

"Yes," Beckman nods. "That's exactly what we need. Perhaps, with your help, we shall be able to erase FULCRUM off the face of the map."

"I would be happy to assist you, General, in whatever capacity you desire," Rohrer speaks carefully. "But, what happens when the mission is done?"

"I think you misunderstand my offer," Beckman looks at him squarely. "This offer is a permanent one. If you accept my offer, you will become Major John Casey; and you shall keep the name, title, and whatever else is appropriate, for as long as you live. The dead Major will be passed off as the homeless Knowle Rohrer. It's Knowle Rohrer who will die today. Long live Major John Casey."

"Then there must be more to it than just the mission," Rohrer returns her stare. "What else are you not telling me?"

"Major John Casey's father was my old CO," Beckman's features soften briefly; so briefly, in fact, that Rohrer can't actually be certain he saw what he thought he saw. Beckman continues speaking.

"John Senior is no longer among the living. But, his wife, Helen is alive, and loved her son very much. I refuse to sully my old CO's memory, or to distress dear Helen, with the fact that their only son died a traitor to the United States of America. But, you can do something here; be a dutiful son to a woman who is all alone in the world, with no one to give her the love, and protection she deserves."

"Yes," Rohrer bows his head, partly to hide that fact that Beckman's words have made him profoundly homesick for his own mother; a woman he'll never see again because of that damned Super Soldier.

"Yes,' he says again. "I can do that. I'll need everything you have on Major Casey; especially if you'll want me to communicate with his mother."

"I'll see to it that you have everything you need," Beckman was preparing to leave. "Agent Bennet will help you get settled in. Welcome to the NSA, Major John Casey."

"Thank you, General," he snaps a salute. "I won't let you down!"

She leaves, along with the suited men, and Knowle Rohrer-no, John Casey-is alone with Ty Bennet.

"Where do we go from here?" he asks his old mentor.

"We go Downstairs," Bennet explains. "There's a Castle here. You can get a shave and a haircut, so you  _look_ like a Major in the NSA. Then you will look at Major Casey's bio until you know it backward and forward."

So saying, Bennet leads his friend to what looks like a blank part of the wall. But, Bennet knows where the hidden sensors are. He touches a part of the wall, and the thing slides open, silently, this time, to reveal an open elevator with only two buttons…

_Upstairs..._

_Downstairs..._

Ty Bennet presses the downstairs button, the door slides shut, and the newly- minted John Casey is taken onwards into his destiny…


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A murder in Burbank...

Chuck Bartowski was finally beginning to get a handle on being the Intersect, with all the baggage that came with being the Intersect. Kung Fu was the least of it. Often, Bartowski found he was capable of playing musical instruments he'd never touched before; or speaking languages he had never learned.

Bryce Larkin's death-permanent, this time-had given Chuck a chance to choose between two particular lives; either the normal-boring-life he had been craving for so long now, or the more exciting, but far more dangerous life; the life Sarah Walker and John Casey lived every day.

Much to his surprise, he had chosen the spy's life. He had actually gone to Spy Academy-of course, the NSA had one-only to fail miserably. He had failed in other ways too…

Sarah Walker had left him. Anyway, after a few bumps on the road, Team Bartowski was back in operation. Somehow, Casey had gotten the Buy More to rehire them both, and Sarah Walker was back at the Orange Orange.

So, now everyone was sort of back where they had started. Chuck was beginning to work his way back to Sarah, deeply aware that he had hurt her, not knowing how to repair the damage, but ready to do anything in his power…

Sarah, for her part, continued her maddening orbit around him. It was like they were executing a complicated pavane; too afraid to move closer for fear of getting hurt, but too lost to truly give the other up...

Thank God for John Casey. He was impatient, demanding, and all too rude, sometimes. But, he was also the steadying hand that kept the whole house of cards from falling down.

Things were also going back to normal-or what passed for normal-at the Burbank Buy More. Emmet Milbarge was…gone.

Almost everyone assumed he had left the Buy More in search of greener pastures.

Chuck knew otherwise.

Casey had told him that an assassin-the one who was trying to kill Chuck-had killed the Store Manager. So, the Buy More was short one Store Manager; but not for long…

Big Mike was back, and he had moved swiftly to set the store back on its feet. One of his first acts had been to promote Morgan Grimes to the rank of Assistant Manager. Chuck had been delighted for his old friend.

So now, discounting the ever-present threat of the Ring, things were really beginning to settle down in Chuck's corner of the world. He was back on track with his relationship with Sarah; and he was learning how to hold his own in the dangerous world that was a spy's life. He was even beginning to earn John Casey's respect.

Then, the murder occurred…

* * *

 

There were several things about the murder that just didn't make sense. For one thing, the victim, a disabled ex-FBI agent named Jeffery Spender, a man who kept himself to himself, simply wasn't the kind of guy you expected to see murdered in the first place. But the police,  _and_ the FBI, had received anonymous phone calls, giving the details of the murder, virtually leading the police by the nose, to the crime scene.

Spender's body had been found, neck broken, in the garbage dump just behind the Buy More, and less than five minutes later, the FBI was at the scene as well.

Chuck had never seen John Casey so angry before…

"How could this happen without my knowing about it?" Casey fumed, deeply chagrined at being caught with his pants down.

It was too late to send in the NSA, or CIA Cleaners. The FBI was there in full force, to avenge one of their own…

The FBI Agent in charge of the investigation had taken over the Employee Break Room to interview potential suspects, and Casey was more…skittish…than usual…

Certainly, the Buy More's environs were beginning to look like the proverbial three-ring circus, the back area cordoned off, detectives everywhere, poking, and prying, into everything.

There was even word that one of the FBI's Legends had been coaxed out of semi-retirement. Jeffrey Spender's autopsy had been done by none other than Dr. Dana Scully.

Big Mike took it all in stride. Chuck was beginning to think the man had nerves of steel. He merely gave orders that all Buy More staff were to co-operate with the FBI. Then he had retired into his office, with his ever-present box of donuts.

Morgan Grimes wasn't put out by Agent Doggett taking over the Employee Break Room either. He had cobbled together an office in the Utility Closet, so he was fine too.

The other employees-Jeff, Lester, all the others, including Chuck, himself-weren't so lucky. They wound up having to take their breaks at the Orange Orange.

Not that Chuck thought that a hardship. Anything that allowed him to spend time with Sarah Walker couldn't be anything but good…

Besides,  _someone_ had to keep Jeff and Lester at bay. Neither was acquainted with the concept that "No means no."

"Thanks for being here, Chuck," Sarah Walker wiped the counter, more than a little frazzled now that everyone was coming to the Orange Orange on their breaks.

"Jeff's being questioned by Agent Doggett right now," Chuck helped himself to some chocolate sprinkles. "What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall right now…"

The freezer door swung open, and John Casey stepped out; looking more pissed-off than was usual for him.

"Nothing," he muttered. "There was nothing on the feeds."

"Your surveillance didn't show anything?" Sarah was startled.

"Not one damned thing!" Casey snarled. "No body, no killer, no nothing!" "

You mean your droids didn't even catch the murder when it happened?"

"According to my surveillance, Bartowski, not a damned thing happened last night," Casey groused. "Whoever did this knew exactly where the cams were, and how to spoof them,"

"So, why kill a disabled guy who used to work for the FBI?"

"I dunno, Walker" Casey's shoulders slumped. "If Beckman calls, let her know I'm out checking the cams."

He stepped outside, grumbling something fairly rancid under his breath. Chuck's Cell phone rang; Morgan Grimes…

"Hey, buddy," Chuck forced a light tone into his voice. "What's up?" "That FBI guy-Dog something…"

"Doggett," Chuck prompted… "Yeah, he's looking for you."

"I'll be right there." He put his cell phone back into his pocket. "Doggett wants to see me now."

Sarah nodded.

"Be careful," she said.

"Hey, it's me."

He stepped out, almost bumping into Casey.

"Where do you think you're going?" the older man rasped.

"FBI Agent Doggett wants to see me."

Casey's reaction was…interesting…

If Chuck hadn't spent as much time with the NSA Agent as he had, he might have missed it; the slightest stiffening of the shoulders, the merest catch in the man's breath.

"You okay, John?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Casey turned away as he spoke. "Remember, don't volunteer information, and answer only the questions he asks."

"I'll do that."

Chuck found Morgan Grimes at the Nerd Herder Station.

"There you are!" the shorter man was clearly rattled by the day's events.

" _Breathe_ , Morgan," Chuck advised. "This will all be over in no time."

"Yeah…" Grimes shivered. "It's not every day we get to host a murder investigation. The dude running the show, Doggett, is one tough hombre. I bet he could even give Casey a hard time."

Chuck remembered Casey's reaction upon hearing the man's name; that slight flinch.

 _Perhaps he could, at that_ …

"He's in the Employee Break Room?"

"Yeah," Grimes nodded. "And, like I said, he's tough."

Just outside the room, Chuck took the time to straighten his tie and smooth down his hair before knocking on the door. Stepping inside, he saw FBI Agent John Doggett, tall and lean, with blondish hair going gray at the temples, and piercingly cold blue eyes, just before he was inundated by a Flash…

 _John Jay Doggett_ … _USMC 1977-1983_ … _Sergeant in 24th MAU with Shannon McMahon and Knowle Rohrer_ ( _See attached photo_ ) _injured in Lebanon_ ; _Retired with Commendations_. _Married to Barbara nee Stewart_.  _One son born, Luke, Deceased 1994_ ( _see file_ ). _Marriage ended in divorce.  Graduated FBI Academy, 1995_ , _joined X-Files Division_ , _2001_ ; _X-Files Division closed 2003_.

"Are you all right?" the man had gotten to his feet, concern in his eyes.

"I'm okay," Chuck shook the Flash out of his system. "Just a slight migraine. You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah," Doggett sat back down, took up pen and notebook.

 _An old-fashioned guy, I see_ …

"Your full name, for the record, please."

"Charles Irving Bartowski, but everyone calls me Chuck."

"Okay…Chuck," the man got down to business. "You are aware that a murder was committed here last night?"

"Yeah…I heard that."

"So, where were you late last night?"

"Me? I was with Sarah Walker, she's my girlfriend, and we went out to see Avatar at the Atlantic Theater."

"What time did you see it?"

"The ten o'clock showing. It was after midnight when we got out."

"Will your girlfriend verify that?"

"Yes, she will. She works at the Orange Orange. The best froyo in town."

"Did you ever know the victim?" Doggett was looking at him intently. "Guy's name was Jeffrey Spender."

The name triggered another Flash-detailing information about alien invasions, Alien Bounty Hunters, and Super soldiers; and Chuck wished a thousand torments upon the head of the person who had originally conceived the idea of the Intersect in the first place…

Gritting his teeth, he answered Doggett's question.

"No, I've never met him before."

The older man continued to look through his already copious amount of notes.

"All right," he said. "What about John Casey?"

" _Casey_?" Chuck couldn't keep the squeak out of his voice.

"Yes," Doggett's eyes bored into him. "I'm told he's big and rather…temperamental…"

"He's not a killer," Chuck replied. "And he  _detests_ lawbreakers."

"Yeah…" Doggett nodded. "The others have told me all about Mr. Casey's zealous anti-shoplifting policy, and his deft aim…"

Chuck winced. The story of how John Casey had felled a fleeing shoplifter with an apple-a half eaten apple, at that-was swiftly becoming a true Buy More Legend.

"Look, Agent Doggett, Casey's not a fluffy personality. But, he's not a murderer either."

"Uh-huh…" Doggett closed his notebook. "Thank you for your time. I will be getting back in touch with you, so keep yourself available.  Speaking of John Casey, please tell him I would like to see him now..."

Chuck got to his feet, and headed back to the Orange Orange, the information from the two Flashes bubbling in his brain.

"Casey," the NSA Agent looked up from his coffee as Chuck barged in. "Doggett wants to see you now."

Again, there was…something… in Casey's eyes.

 _If I didn't know better, I would say he was frightened_ …

"Casey," Chuck continued. "Doggett's worked in the X-Files, and there are all sorts of stuff on alien invasions, shape shifters, and Super soldiers; and…and…who is Knowle Rohrer?"

Casey stiffened.

"Where did you hear that name?" he hissed.

"It was in the Flash," Chuck explained. "Was Rohrer a cover of yours?"

"No," Casey was still tense. "The man's dead, has been for years. You didn't bring him up, did you?"

There was real fear in his voice now.

"Of course not!" Chuck said "I just thought you should know. Also…"

"What, Bartowski? Spit it out!"

"I think he's looking at you for the suspect. He asked me an awful lot of questions concerning you. Jeff, or Lester, must have mentioned the Shoplifter you pegged with that apple."

"They probably also mentioned the Volleyball Incident too," Casey grumped, back to his normal self. "I'll be back when I'm done with Doggett."

"Don't do, or say, anything stupid, Casey," Sarah warned. "This is not a good time to let your temper get the better of you."

"Walker, I'm a big boy," Casey shot back. "I don't need anyone holding my hand…"

Chuck tuned them both out as he opened the freezer door, and made his way down to the Castle. Someone had to bring General Beckman up to date…

* * *

 

Just about the last thing Agent John Doggett expected to see was a ghost. But, there the ghost was, wearing the green shirt and tan slacks of a Buy More Sales Associate. Doggett stared up at the man-John Casey-and felt his mouth go dry at the sight.

"John Casey?" Doggett said the man's name, just to be sure.

The man nodded impatiently.

"Yeah, that's my name," his manner fairly screaming, _get to the point, you fecking idiot_!

"Okay…"Doggett indicated the chair across the table. "Please have a seat."

It was clear to Doggett that the man had seen military service. He was even sitting at attention for God's sake.

"A murder was committed here late last night," Doggett began. "Could you tell me where you were at the time?"

"At home," the man folded his arms across his broad chest.

"Anyone with you to verify that?"

"No, sir," Casey shook his head. "I was alone."

Doggett jotted a few notes down in his notebook, trying to put Knowle Rohrer out of his mind.

"I hear tell you've got a bit of a temper, Mr. Casey, and a deft aim with the odd apple."

Casey snorted derisively.

"That kid came to no harm," he said. "And, he hasn't been back since, so he must have learned his lesson."

"How about the Volleyball Incident?"

"An accident," Casey shrugged. "I've got a mean spike."

"I'm sure you do…"

Doggett let it lie between them for a bit, looking for any signs of uneasiness. But the man was as calm as a deep lake.

"Does the name Jeffrey Spender mean anything to you?"

Casey seemed to consider the question.

"No, "he said, at last. "Anything else you need?"

"Not right now," Doggett put pen and notebook away. "But please keep yourself available."

The man nodded curtly, stood, and then left the room without another word. Doggett stared at the tabletop, not really seeing it. There was something…off…about John Casey, and it was more than his freakish resemblance to a long dead friend.

Picking up his cell phone, he dialed his partner's number. Monica Reyes answered immediately.

"Hey, John."

"Monica, I need you to run a background check on one of the Buy More employees. His name is John Casey."

"How quickly do you need it?"

"Yesterday," Doggett stretched as he spoke, working the kinks out of his spine. "Prepare for a shock, though. Casey's the living image of Knowle Rohrer."

"John…"Reyes spoke hesitantly. "Is it possible that he could be-"

"No, Monica, we both saw him die…" Doggett wasn't sure he would ever be able to forget seeing Knowle Rohrer die; his flesh charring, blackening, as some mysterious force in the Anasazi Ruins tore his body apart…

"Whoever this John Casey is," Doggett went on. "It's not Knowle Rohrer…"

"But, he could be something else," Reyes warned him. "Like one of those Alien Bounty Hunters Mulder told us about."

"Working a dead end job in the local Buy More?"

"Well…when you put it that way…I'll get right on the background check. Maybe we'll find something…"

* * *

 

John Casey headed for the Employee Rest Room. There, he booted those infernal slackers-Jeff and Lester, sending them back to do the work they were being paid to do. His cell phone rang.

"Casey, secure."

"This is General Beckman. Report, please."

"Ma'am," Casey took a deep breath. "Operation Bartowski is in imminent danger of becoming compromised."

"Agent Bartowski has already informed me."

 _Good kid_ …

"It looks like I'm the main suspect in this investigation, Ma'am," he said. "And the FBI has brought Agent John Doggett in to investigate the murder. He's already interviewed me, and he's no dummy. In my opinion, it's only a matter of time before he puts two and two together."

"Shit…" was Beckman's succinct response. "I can't pull you out right now. Our resources are spread thin, and there's no one I trust sufficiently to take your place in Team Bartowski. I would advise you to take care."

"What have your analysts come up with?"

"Here are the facts, Colonel. A killer has managed to murder his/her victim, without said murder being recorded on your surveillance. Also, two anonymous phone calls were made; one to the local Burbank Police, the other to the FBI. Both calls were made within minutes of the murder, and both calls were made using voice distortion technology. My analysts have come up with a picture that, oddly enough, leaves Operation Bartowski in the clear. After all, if the killer can waltz through your surveillance, and kill someone, all without turning up on your surveillance, then, if that person wanted Chuck dead, he would be dead…"

"I'm not sure I like the direction this is taking…" Casey muttered.

"Neither do I, John," Beckman's voice came over the line. "Like it or not, this seems to be aimed at  _you_ specifically, and, to me, that doesn't spell the Ring."

A thrill of fear worked its way up his spine.

" _Them_ …" he stated. "After all these years."

"Yes, Colonel, so take extreme care. I'll come down as soon as I can. Maybe there's a way to salvage the situation. Until then, hang on."

She hung up. Casey leaned on one of the bathroom sinks, glaring at the wall mirror. He was fairly sure Team Bartowski could handle the Ring. Although he would never publicly admit it, Chuck Bartowski was getting better at this business every day; and, when Walker had her head screwed on right, she was just about the best partner Casey could ever recall having. But, if it was the _Others_ …

Casey shivered at the thought…

 _Deal with what's in your face right now_ , he admonished himself.

* * *

 

"Yes," Sarah Walker handed John Doggett a small chocolate froyo. "Chuck and I saw Avatar at the Atlantic. It was the ten o'clock show."

She smiled fondly at the memory of the evening spent "Securing their cover"…

"So," Agent Doggett prompted. "Dinner and a movie?"

"Ah…yes," Sarah flushed slightly. "Like I said, we had a late night."

"All right," the FBI agent flipped through his notebook. "Do you know John Casey? One of the Buy More Green shirts; a big bruiser of a guy…"

"He comes here often on his breaks." Sarah kept her features impassive.

Chuck had already told her what Doggett seemed to think of Casey.

 _God only knows what Patel and Barnes told him_ …

"So," Doggett was talking. "Have you ever seen Casey display…violent tendencies?"

"No," Sarah Walker didn't really like lying to an FBI Agent. But she was fairly sure Doggett wouldn't understand…

"That's not what two Buy More employees told me," Doggett countered.

"Let me guess," Sarah smiled sweetly. "Jeff Barnes and Lester Patel."

"You know them?"

"They come here on their breaks too. Agent Doggett, you must have noticed that Jeff Barnes isn't a reliable witness…"

"He did seem somewhat…iffy…" Doggett admitted. "And his breath…"

"I'm sure he was totally skunked when you interviewed him. So much so that he probably won't remember you at all tomorrow."

"I…see…" Doggett raised an eyebrow. "And, Lester Patel?"

"A weasel, pure and simple," Sarah explained. "He'll say, and do, anything, if he thinks it will help him get ahead."

"So, he lies?"

"Like a rug," Sarah assured him. She hesitated, and then spoke again.

"John Casey is…rough around the edges. He has zero patience for at least nine tenths of the world's population. But, he's not the kind of guy to kill a disabled person, and leave the body in the trash."

"You sure 'bout that?"

"I've known him for three years now, and I would trust him with my life. Is there anything else?"

"Not now," Doggett stood. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Walker."

* * *

 

Now, hours later, Doggett was sitting on the motel bed, typing away on his FBI-owned laptop, notebook by his side. There was a tap on the door, and Monica Reyes entered, dark eyes radiating a pool of psychic warmth that never failed to invigorate Doggett's soul.

"Hey," she nodded at the laptop, and the notebook. "Working Hard? Or hardly working?"

"Ech…" Doggett scrubbed his face wearily. "It's a mess. On the surface, it looks so clear; an open-and-shut case. John Casey's really the only suspect we've got."

"But, he scares you…"

"Yeah…" Doggett admitted. "I mean, he could be one of _them_ , whoever  _they_ really are. But, what if he isn't? What if he's completely innocent?"

"Looking exactly like Knowle Rohrer?"

"Twins do get separated, Monica. Maybe their parents die, and they have no family left to take care of them. Or, maybe their mothers are too young to take care of them, so they get put up for adoption. I would hate to ruin a man's life because the only thing he's guilty of is looking like Knowle Rohrer."

He sat up straighter.

"Okay, Monica, what have you got?"

"First, Sarah Walker and Chuck Bartowski; their alibi checks out. They were at the Atlantic Theater for the ten o'clock showing of Avatar, and the security cams show them leaving the Atlantic at around 12:30 AM…"

"All right," Doggett rubbed his eyes. "You do the background check on John Casey?"

"Yes," Reyes nodded. "He served in the Marines. He was honorably discharged five years ago. But…I don't know…Casey's record seems…incomplete…somehow. No mention of family history, no mention of previous occupational history. It just doesn't feel…right."

"Like he isn't what he says he is?"

"It could be that, John…"

There was an uncomfortable silence. Too many paranoid thoughts from years back were rearing their ugly heads again.

"So," Doggett shook those thoughts away. "What were you able to dig up on Casey?"

"It seems he spent the greater part of the '90s in the Middle East. But I can't find out what he did while he was there."

But, John Doggett knew. It was all so clear now…

 _An assassin.  A god-damned assassin working retail in the local Burbank Buy More_ …

"I have learned some interesting things about him, though…" Reyes went on. "He's a bit of a loner; doesn't seem to have many friends."

"No surprise there," Doggett commented. "He doesn't seem like a warm, cuddly personality."

"But he does have two friends," Reyes twinkled. "He seems to hang out with them on a regular basis. They're a bit of a trio…"

"Okay," Doggett sat up straighter. "Now, I'm curious."

"Would you be horribly surprised if I told you it was Chuck Bartowski and-"

"Sarah Walker!" Doggett exclaimed. "She said she trusted John Casey with her life. Now, I know why!"

"Will I need a decoder Ring?"Reyes sounded mildly miffed. "Or can you tell me in plain English?"

"All three of them are Agents, Monica; they've got to be!"

"Agents…"

"Either DOD, CIA, or NSA. Like I said, it makes sense."

"Oh, god," Reyes murmured. "What have we stumbled into?"

"It doesn't matter, Monica" Doggett felt grimness enter into him, sort of like an earthen blanket. "Someone killed Jeffrey Spender. Scully's report said the killer snapped his neck like a twig. What possible reason was there for killing him?"

Disabled, severely disfigured, Jeffrey Spender hadn't been any kind of threat; to anyone…

"I can't let this one go, Monica. You know that."

"I know," Reyes sighed. "The killer had to be very strong to break Jeffrey's neck like that."

"So, it's back to Casey again…" Doggett pinched the bridge of his nose, the mother of all headaches taking shape behind his eyes.

"It sure looks that way," Reyes agreed. "So, what do we do?"

Doggett opened his eyes, looked Reyes square in the eyes.

"We bring him in," he said. "That's what we do."


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An official FBI Interrogation goes slightly awry. Dana Scully makes her first appearance

_He is only ten years old_ ; _but even he knows something is terribly wrong_. _He's with a group of people_ - _kids and grownups_ - _and they're all scared_. _It's very dark now_ , _and they're all waiting for_ … _something_ … _to happen_. _Brilliant light floods the area_ , _blinding him_ , _along with all of the others_. _Through the brilliant haze_ , _he can see tall shapes_ , _angular, with too-long arms and legs_ , _striding forward_. _One of those shapes stops directly in front of him_ ; _stares down at him with pitch-black eyes_ …

* * *

John Casey jolted awake, sitting bolt upright, tangled in the bedding, sweat chilling his bare chest.

 _Not real…_ he told himself. _Just that damned nightmare again, after all these years…_

The clock on the table said _5 AM_ ; which wasn't all that long before he had to get up anyway. Just as well, really. After a nightmare like that, Casey was fairly certain he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep…

Tossing the sweat-soaked sheets off to one side, he rolled out of bed, and padded into the bathroom to start his morning routine. As he stood in the steaming hot shower, he tried to figure out what had brought the nightmare back after such a long time. He hadn't had that particular nightmare in…well… _years_ …

That nightmare, and the sense of abandoned desolation it always brought, put him in mind of his previous life as Knowle Rohrer. Back when he was a kid-around ten, or so-a Very Bad Thing had happened to him, so bad that most of that year had been wiped from his memory.

His Mom had told him it was a car accident; a drunk driver had hit the car his Dad was driving. His father-Justin Rohrer-had been killed instantly, and Knowle had been in a coma for three months. Everyone had told him how miraculous his recovery had been. But that had also been when the nightmares started…

This time, however, he was fairly sure why he had had the damned nightmare. Stress always seemed to bring it out-the last time he had had it was when Ilsa had dropped back into his life.

Now, he was the star suspect in a nasty murder mystery…

And the killer had somehow managed to avoid his omnipresent surveillance while doing the deed.

This also raised the possibility that the murder was just a test run, and that Bartowski was also on this killer's To Do list.

Yeah, there was more than the usual amount of stress in Casey's life today…

_Why would anyone want to kill Jeffrey Spender? He's nothing, a nobody…_

Was this, as General Beckman believed, all aimed at him? Was there someone out there who knew who he _really_ was?

A frightening thought, that.

So, who else knew? Apart from Beckman, there had also been Ty Bennet. But his old sensei, now a traitor to the United States of America was dead, an apparent suicide. Casey wasn't sure if it was FULCRUM, or The Ring; but he was certain Bennet's death, in captivity, was no suicide.

There were the agents who had been with Beckman when she took Knowle Rohrer under her wing. But they had proven their loyalty, and integrity, a million times over, and Casey knew he could trust those men-all of them-with his life.

What else was left?

The answer chilled Casey to his very bones.

_Them…whoever they are…_

Fox William Mulder-that brilliant freak-had maintained that _they_ were aliens from literally another world, come to invade _this_ world. Casey wasn't so certain of that anymore. But he had seen enough of governmental organizations, and knew enough about the theory of Plausible Deniability, to realize that the danger could be _much_ more local in nature than that.

He had heard enough dark rumors about _The Syndicate_ -or was it _The Consortium_ -to fill several books.

Whether they were still active or not was another story. But rumor had tied them to all sorts of nefarious things…

_So…maybe Super Soldiers were one of those things they did…_

Well, there was nothing he could do about this now. He couldn't even run; he had an Intersect to protect…

Later, when Chuck Bartowski and Morgan Grimes arrived to pick him up for work, he was feeling better. Shaved, showered, muscles aching pleasantly from an intense thirty-minute workout, he was now able to view the world with equanimity; even to ignoring the inane Gaming chatter of the two geeks during the drive to the _Buy More_. His pleasant mood lasted until they got to the parking lot. Agents Doggett and Reyes were both there, along with a handful of uniformed cops.

_Here it comes…_

"Casey…" Grimes' voice was trembling. "What's going on?"

Bartowski was keeping his trap shut-thank God-like he knew what was coming too…

Casey got out of the car, eyes fixed on Agent Doggett.

"John Casey," the FBI agent spoke formally. "You are under arrest for the murder of Jeffrey Spender. Put your hands on the car please."

Casey complied as Bartowski and Grimes got out of the car, too stunned to say, or do, anything else.

Casey felt someone behind him, patting him down quickly and efficiently. Quickly relieved of both guns, the one in his ankle-holster and the one tucked behind his back-another time, Doggett's raised eyebrows at a _Buy More_ employee armed with two guns would've been funny-Casey's hands were firmly cuffed behind his back Casey caught Chuck's appalled gaze, mouthed the word, _Castle_. The geek jumped, as if scalded, nodded jerkily, headed off to the _Orange, Orange…_

Morgan Grimes just stood there, eyes as wide as saucers.

"Go to work, Grimes."

"Huh?"

"Go…to…work…Grimes," Casey gritted his teeth. "Big Mike needs you."

"Uh…yeah…"The gnome ran off for the _Buy More_ , running like his life depended on it…

* * *

"Sarah, they've just arrested Casey!"

Chuck bounded down the stairs, into the Control Room. There, he stopped dead. General Beckman was on the monitor; and Sarah Walker was facing the general, anger in every line of her body. Beckman was speaking.

"As I've already said, Agent Walker, you are not to intervene in any way."

"But, General," Walker protested. "After all his years of devoted service, surely John deserves-"

"Please remember _why_ you are here, Agent Walker, whom you are protecting. _That_ is your duty. I trust we are clear on that?"

"Yes, ma'am…"

"Good; I'll get back to you," Beckman signed off. Sarah glared at the screen.

"Bitch…" she muttered.

Chuck came up behind her, laid gentle hands on her shoulders. Tense…very tense. He began to massage her neck and shoulders, talking as his fingers probed taut muscles and strained nerves…

"I think Beckman's coming down here in person, Sarah. It's not that she doesn't want to help Casey; it's far more likely she already has something planned, and she doesn't want us to foul her plan up. Besides, if you bust Casey out of jail, you and he would have to go on the lam together, and you would drive each other bonkers in a matter of days; not to mention that _I_ would be short two handlers, Beckman would have to find a new set for me, and I would have to break them in…way too much hassle for everyone involved…"

Sarah snorted.

"Don't make me laugh," she accused. "This is serious!"

"I know. But we can't afford to go off half-cocked. Beckman knows what she's doing, and…Does Casey have a lawyer?"

"Beckman should be able to provide that much, at least," Sarah took a deep breath. "If she doesn't…"

"Whoa, Sarah…"Chuck had never seen Sarah Walker look so grim. "Beckman and Casey have always seemed to operate on a basis of mutual trust and respect. I just don't see her ever throwing Casey to the wolves like you seem to be implying."

"What about Costa Gravas?"

_She would have to bring that up…_

"Well…uh…" Chuck shifted his feet. "Foreign embassies on American soil are always considered to be sovereign territory of the nations they represent, right?"

"Yes," Sarah nodded.

"So, that means that when Casey was captured, he was captured in the sovereign nation of Costa Gravas. If Beckman had gone in there with a rescue unit to get Casey out, she may well have precipitated an act of war; which, need I remind you, is _exactly_ what The Ring wanted? Casey's situation, _now,_ is totally different. About the only thing she _can't_ do is break him out like you wanted to do. But I bet Beckman has a million other things she could do to help him; the least of which would be to provide an attorney free of charge."

"Í hope you're right," Sarah's cell phone rang. "Walker, secure…yes, General…he's here too…Yes, Ma'am…we'll be there…Walker out."

She closed her cell phone.

"Beckman called back," she said. "We can visit Casey. You ready to go?"

"I thought you'd never ask…"

Chuck grabbed both of their jackets, and they headed out of the Castle…

* * *

Agent John Doggett looked through the one-way mirror, at the man sitting alone in the Interrogation Room. John Casey, cuffed to the chair, was entirely too much at ease for a man facing a Capital Charge of Murder. That faint smirk as the man glanced at the mirror told Doggett that Casey was familiar with Interrogation Rooms too.

The FBI agent looked down at his own hands, clenched into fists, willed the fingers to unclench.

_I haven't even started, and, already he's getting to me…_

"Do you want me to do this?"

Monica Reyes was standing beside him, also looking at Casey.

"This must be incredibly unsettling for you," she added

"No, Monica," Doggett shook his head. "I have to do this."

"All right," Reyes stayed by the mirror. "I'm here if you need me."

Doggett nodded, drew in a deep breath, steeling himself, entered the Interrogation Room. Casey looked up at him, _something_ sparking in his eyes briefly before he resumed his disinterested mask. Doggett took his time getting settled on his side of the table; a time-honored tactic meant to unsettle the suspect. But Casey seemed immune to the trick. When all his paraphernalia-notebook, pen, tape recorder-was assembled to his satisfaction, he proceeded.

"Mr. Casey," he said. "Do you know why you're here?"

"You arrested me," Casey smirked.

Doggett avoided grinding his teeth by a major effort of will.

"You are the prime suspect in the murder of ex-FBI Agent Jeffrey Spender, he continued, searching the man's features for anything; but Casey was still not giving anything away.

"I don't even know him, Agent Doggett," Casey spoke. "Why would I want to kill the poor chump?"

"Let me tell you about this… _poor chump…_ as you call him," Doggett stared right into the other man's eyes. "The poor guy was shot, almost killed by his own father, who gave him to this organization-the Syndicate- who were in the habit of performing...horrific...experiments upon helpless victims. They were trying to turn him into something they called a Super Soldier."

There was a brief flash of... _something_... in Casey's eyes now, a bunching of muscles in the man's prominent jaw; but it was gone before Doggett could quantify it, leaving calmness in its wake…

"So," Casey spoke. "Just why do you think I'm the one who killed him?"

"You have a reputation for-"

"For having a temper," Casey finished for him. "For beaning shoplifters with apples, and accidentally spiking someone at a volleyball game. You know, that doesn't really translate into killing a disabled guy and leaving the body in the trash."

"We're fairly sure you were an assassin for an agency of some type," Doggett spoke dryly. "NSA, DOD, take your pick"

"Look," Casey faced him squarely. "I'm just one of the local Buy Morons. But…let's assume you're right about me. I'm not sloppy, and killing a guy and leaving the body in the trash is sloppy, very sloppy. Further, leaving the body in the _Buy More_ trash is too close to where I work; far too much chance of it all leading back to me. If I _really_ wanted to off the guy, I would follow him to where he lived, wait until he went to bed, let myself in, and do him _there_. Simple, neat, with far less chance of it all leading back to me. That clear enough for you?"

Doggett stared into the man's blue eyes, seeing truth there, much as he wanted to deny it. Just then, the door opened, and a woman, wearing the uniform, and insignia of a General in the Air Force, stepped into the room.

"Hey…"Doggett stood. "You're not supposed to be he-"

She held out her ID Card.

_General Diane Beckman. Chief of NSA_

"I had kinda figured that about about Casey," Doggett handed the card back. "But I can't throw this case on your say so. One of our own was murdered."

"John Casey isn't the man you want, Agent Doggett."

"How about we let a jury decide?"

Beckman opened her mouth to speak, but there was a knock on the door. Agent Reyes stood in the door, flanked by Sarah Walker and Chuck Bartowski. Beckman looked like she was expecting them, Reyes looked a bit embarrassed that Beckman had managed to slip behind her, and Casey merely raised an eyebrow, bemused resignation in his eyes.

Doggett, meanwhile, had had it up to _here…_

"All right, all of you," he snarled. "Get in here everyone, you too Monica"

Beckman arched an eyebrow. It had probably been years since someone had spoken to her like that. Bartowski grinned nervously as he and Sarah Walker found seats; and Monica Reyes slunk in, refusing to meet Doggett's eyes.

Doggett closed the door, but, before he could speak, the door knocked again.

"What is this, frikkin' Grand Central?"

He wrenched the door open, found himself looking down at Dr. Dana Scully.

"I'm sorry," the red-headed woman said as she slid into the room.

"We seem to have a full house," she added.

"Grab a seat, Dana," Doggett forced the irritation out of his system. "If you have anything new, you'll just have to wait while we get this all sorted out."

He turned to face everyone, the suspect, and all the…uninvited guests…

"Okay," he snorted. "First, Monica, what have you got?"

"This'" she held up the sheet. "We ran an ID check on Mr. Casey's fingerprints, using all the Federal databases. It says he's Knowle Rohrer."

Doggett was transfixed by everyone's reactions. Beckman closed her eyes, muttered something rancid under her breath. Casey bowed his head; but Doggett didn't miss the way the man's jaw worked, the convulsive swallowing that spoke of very real fear. Scully was glaring at Casey, and-if looks could kill-there wouldn't be enough of Casey left to bring to trial. Sarah Walker looked worried, and Chuck Bartowski…

He looked like he was having another of his migraines…

"You okay, Mr. Bartowski? I'm sure we could scrounge up an aspirin, or three."

"Omigod…Omigod…"Chuck was muttering softly, as if to himself. "Casey really _is_ Knowle Rohrer, and he really _did_ serve with John Doggett, in the 24th MAU, and Dana Scully was abducted by-"

"Be _quiet,_ " Beckman snapped, and Bartowski fell silent, like flipping a switch, eyes wide as he glanced around. Doggett just stared at him.

"How the friggin' hell do you know all that?"

As far as Doggett knew, _those_ files had been buried so deeply, that not even the head of the _CIA_ was supposed to be able to find them. A horrible thought occurred to him…

"Are we being investigated?"

He glared at Beckman.

"The NSA has nothing but the highest regard for all three of you," Beckman's eyes rested, in turn, on Doggett, Reyes, and Scully. "The same goes for ex-FBI Agent Fox William Mulder. "

"You could have helped," Scully turned furious eyes on John Casey. " _You_ could have helped. Why didn't you help, _Knowle Rohrer?_ Where were you when Fox was put on trial, and convicted, for _your_ murder?"

Casey laughed humorlessly.

"I was off in Afghanistan, getting the shit tortured out of me by Ba'ath Separatists. Believe me; I was in no position to help _anyone_."

The man looked up briefly, and Doggett could see the anger, and _shame_ in the man.

"Agent Scully…"Casey was still speaking. "If I could've helped, I would have. I'm not the kind of guy who lets an innocent man go up the river like that. I don't know what I could've done to help, but I would have tried."

"And very likely gotten yourself killed," Beckman spoke up. "If you were lucky, that is. And, if you _weren't_ lucky, well…there are those of us in this room that can imagine, quite clearly, what your ultimate fate would've been if you weren't lucky."

Casey bowed his head again, nodding jerkily.

"For what it's worth, Dr. Scully," he continued. "I am sorry."

The anger seemed to go out of Scully, like water draining from a holed bucket.

"I'm sorry too," she replied.

 _All the heartbreak that poor woman's endured these past several years, it just isn't fair,_ Doggett thought to himself.

But this wasn't the time to get into that. He rapped the table, commanding everyone's attention.

"Anyone else got something to add?"

"I might," Scully slip a large sheet out from a folder she was carrying. "I'll need the suspect's right hand free to make a comparison."

"What for?" there was considerable suspicion in Casey's voice.

"We were able to get some prints of the killer's fingers from the victim's neck."

Casey looked to Beckman, who simply nodded. Doggett took up position just behind Casey as Reyes freed the man's right hand from the chair. He watched as Casey followed Scully's instructions, pressing his hand, palm down, upon the paper. Scully looked at Casey's hand, and the killer's prints right next to it.

"Well," she said. "I guess that takes you right off the list."

The difference was clear. The killer's prints belonged to a smaller, more delicate, hand than Casey's large paws.

"If I didn't know any better," Doggett said, as he stared down at the paper. "I would swear that was a woman's hand."

"A woman breaking a man's neck…" Sarah Walker scoffed. "Not bloody likely."

"Jeffrey Spender was disabled, and in frail health," Beckman pointed out. But a sick look of dread lay in her eyes.

It was the same look of dread in Casey's eyes as he looked down at the killer's fingerprints.

"Shannon McMahon…" was all he said.

* * *

It was enough to trigger another Flash, and Chuck Bartowski gritted his teeth as more information flooded his senses.

" _She_ served in the 24th MAU too?" he just couldn't believe it, how everyone, and everything, seemed to be connected here.

"Okay," his head was spinning." It's official; I'm confused. There must be two of you, Casey, otherwise it's all impossible. So, are you a good witch, or a bad witch, Casey?"

"Right now, I'm the _only_ witch, and if you keep on geeking things up, you'll learn what kind I am," Casey grated. The NSA expelled some air through his nose, rather like an enraged bull.

"I think I'm the only one now," Casey spoke again, uncertainly, eyes going to Doggett. "I don't know what happened to the one who took over my life."

"He's dead," Doggett spoke up. "I saw him die with my own eyes."

"How do you kill one of those anyway?"

Casey had asked the question.

"They're vulnerable to magnetite," Scully replied. "It seems to…burn them...tear their bodies apart."

"But, still," Doggett looked directly at Casey. "We have no idea how many Knowle Rohrer Super Soldiers they made. You could be the Knowle Rohrer I used to know. But, you could also be… _that_ …and I think we really need to know which one you are."

Chuck heard Casey sigh, eyes closing as his shoulders slumped wearily. He had never seen Casey look so…defeated.

"It's all right, Colonel," Beckman said. "I think the time has come for telling the truth."

" _Colonel?"_ Doggett stood, flabbergasted. "What the fuck is a _Colonel_ doing working retail in a local _Buy More_?"

"It's _classified_ ," Casey snapped testily.

"Colonel Casey," Beckman reminded him.

"Yeah…" Casey took a deep breath, swallowed nervously. "I am Knowle Rohrer, like my fingerprints said…"

He described everything that had happened; the Super Soldier trying to kill him, his attempt to bring it to the attention of the DOD, the realization that the DOD had been compromised, all those years of homeless wandering, and Beckman's taking him in, giving him a new name and identity.

"So," Doggett assimilated what he had just been told. "The DOD _was_ infiltrated."

"Yes," Beckman nodded. "It took some doing on our part, but we were eventually able to purge the DOD of those inimical elements…"

"You had them murdered," Doggett didn't know whether to be relieved, or _terrified_ at the notion of the NSA...making war…on the DOD.

"It was necessary," Beckman said. "And we were successful. But we cannot allow the Colonel to take his original identity back; not ever."

"You've been protecting him all these years?"

"Yes, Agent Doggett. His bravery and loyalty, his willingness to make appalling personal sacrifices in the name of duty, deserve nothing less than our total respect and devotion."

"Semper Fidelis," Doggett murmured.

"Semper Fidelis, indeed," Beckman looked up at the FBI agent. "And I ask _you_ , in turn, to honor the sacrifices he has made, the losses he has endured. Forget that Knowle Rohrer is alive. Destroy any fingerprints you got from him; don't write that name in any of your reports. This is Colonel John Casey, and John Casey he must remain."

"So, you all think they may still be looking for him…" Doggett guessed.

"I think so," the discomfort in Casey's voice was clear. "I'm not sure why though…"

"Casey…" Chuck began hesitantly. The possibility that had just occurred to him was too incredible to be real. But he had to ask…

"Have you ever been abducted before?"

"Abducted…" Casey scoffed. "Are you thinking of joining the Tin Foil Hat crowd?"

"It's not out of the realm of possibility, Colonel," Scully spoke up. "Knowle Rohrer's life history shows a three-month gap upon his return from serving in Lebanon."

"The plane Shannon and I were on got shot down," Casey protested. "I was in a coma for three months…"

His voice faltered uncertainly.

"What's wrong, John?" Sarah was worried. Come to think of it, so was Chuck. In spite of everything, he had come to like John Casey. The irascible NSA agent had come to be the snarky older brother to him.

"I was remembering something back from when I was a kid," Casey frowned. "My Dad and I were in an accident. He was killed instantly, but I was in a coma; for three months."

Casey was beginning to look a little frightened, and Chuck really couldn't blame him…

"Your father's name was Justin Rohrer," Scully asked him.

"Yeah…"

Chuck almost didn't hear Casey's response. He was too busy getting inundated by yet another Flash; detailing information in Justin Rohrer's exploits as a pilot in the Korean War, the circumstances of his death, in November of '73, and more about the child Knowle Rohrer had been at the time, and his mother, Patricia Rohrer…

"It wasn't an accident," the words slipped out of Chuck, almost as if without his conscious volition. "Knowle Rohrer's father was murdered. The brakes on his car had been tampered with, and the murder investigation was quashed by high-up government types. Also, he was alone in the car when it happened. You weren't there."

"'Course I was there!" Casey snapped. "Why else would I have been in a coma? My mother told me what happened."

"Then, she lied to you, Casey," Chuck couldn't believe the horror the Flash had just revealed. He tapped his head. "Trust my resources, Casey. The…Int…Uh… _it_ says you were with your mother when your father died. And you, and she, were at El Rico Military Base."

Scully stared at Casey in horror, and Chuck knew that she _knew_ what had happened there back in '73…

"You were at El Rico? Oh, my god…"

"What is this about El Rico," Casey sat up straighter in his chair. "And, could someone please free me from this chair? I thought I'm not a suspect anymore…"

"Oh, sorry…"Doggett quickly undid the handcuffs. "Sorry about that…"

"Yeah…yeah…" Casey rubbed his wrists.

"Don't change the subject, Casey," Chuck actually wound up enough nerve to reprimand him. "This is too important. Your life may depend on it."

"On, what…"Casey demanded. "There's no such thing as little green men. You do know that, right?"

"Colonel Casey," Scully glared at him. "Alien Abduction isn't the only possible scenario. I was abducted too. By _men_ , Colonel; men who were not afraid to harvest all my ova, for use in further experiments, men who would quite happily dissect a living child if that served their purpose; men who conducted terrible experiments on other men, women, and children, gave them cancer, and created other children out of their stolen DNA, for yet more terrible experiments. If you were at El Rico in 1973, you would've been…what…ten years old at the time; and you were almost certainly abducted, experimented upon, and your memory wiped."

She took a breath, and then went on…

"The fact that this three-month lapse happened again, in 1983, almost certainly indicates that you were abducted, again, perhaps so they could clone you for the purpose of making that other Rohrer, the Super soldier"

"Yeah," Chuck nodded. "Although I'm wondering just why they felt they had to clone you. They didn't do that with Billy Miles or Shannon McMahon. I don't even think they went that far with Agent Mulder."

"Okay," Casey got to his feet, headed for the door. "You two can go on playing your Twilight Zone games. I'm out of here…"

He was stopped by Beckman's voice.

"Stand down, Colonel, and _sit_ down," she said sternly. "There are mysteries in your earlier life that bear closer examination."

"With all due respect, ma'am," Casey stumped back to his chair. "This is insane. How the hell are we going to…examine…my earlier life anyway?"

"I would suggest Regressive Hypnosis," Scully spoke crisply. "It worked for me."

"Yeah…" Casey looked her over. "Right…"

"Apart from the Colonel's obvious reluctance," Beckman put in. "There is also his status as an active agent in the NSA"

"So, he has secrets he can't afford to spill," Scully nodded. "I get that…Does Dr. Karl Voss still work for the NSA?"

"Yes, he does," Beckman's eyes widened. "And it's clear to me you have maintained your contacts over the years. He's based here in LA, and can be here within the hour. I would suggest, for added security, that we do it _here_."

"Ma'am," Casey was beginning to look just a little alarmed. "I don't like folks rummaging around in my brain. Please don't ask this of me…"

"I'm not asking," there was compassion in Beckman's eyes. "I'm _ordering_ you to remain here, in Agent Doggett's custody until the Hypnosis can be accomplished. Your past is more dangerous than any of us previously imagined. Think of it this way, John. In your past, there might lay an unimaginable threat to the United State of America. It is your  _duty_ to identify that threat, and take measures to erase that threat. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Ma'am" the reluctance in John Casey was clear.

So," Doggett said. "We'll be doing this in about an hour?"

"Yes," Beckman was pulling out her cell phone.

"Wait," Chuck nervously raised a hand. "Before we crack Casey's head open like an egg…has he had lunch yet? Poor guy's got to be starving."

He pulled out his own cell phone.

"How about some Sizzling Shrimp, everyone?"

He looked around. Casey was shaking his head, bemused, and maybe a little fatalistic by now. Sarah was nodding, and-much to his shock, so was General Beckman.

"The NSA will pick up the tab, and Mr. Bartowski will take everyone's orders."

"Yes, Ma'am," Chuck looked over at Agent Doggett, as he speed-dialed the number. "What will you have?"

 

 


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Casey undergoes regressive hypnosis

FBI Agent John Doggett looked at the Interrogation Chamber in bemused resignation. _Now_ , it was hosting a lunch party of six. Plastic containers and forks littered the table, along with paper napkins, and tiny packets of soy sauce-or hot sauce, for the more daring-along with the obligatory free cans of soda. Doggett picked at his fried rice-not much of an appetite today-as he looked at his dining companions. Monica Reyes, Sarah Walker, and Dana Scully were together, giggling like schoolgirls, over something, and Doggett felt something deep in his chest ease.

After all the loss and heartbreak she had endured over the years, she could still laugh…

General Diane Beckman sat apart from the others, keeping a watchful eye on her agents, particularly John Casey; and Chuck Bartowski, too, was watching the Colonel from where he sat near Sarah Walker.

John Casey, nee Knowle Rohrer, was enjoying his lunch too. Clearly, the man believed in eating well whenever he could.

_The life of a spy_ , Doggett realized. _Eat well now, because you have no idea when, or where, your next meal will come from, or if you'll even be alive to enjoy it_ …

Casey looked up then, caught Doggett looking at him.

"I'm sorry," the man sighed.

"What are you apologizing for, Kno-Casey?"

Doggett gritted his teeth at his momentary lapse.

_Gonna have to watch that_ …

"It's not your fault, man," he continued. "Keeping hidden was probably the only thing you could've done; especially with the DOD infiltrated the way it was."

He still couldn't get over the fact that the NSA had been the agency to deal with that particular problem…

_I guess there are some women out there will balls of brass too_

He turned his attention back to the old friend he had thought long-dead…

"You okay where you're at? Gotta be all sorts of strange living another life like this."

"Yeah…" Casey nodded. "But, when you have no choice, you learn to deal with it, and accept it for what it is. I only have one real regret in all of this…"

"Yes?"

"My mother," Casey stared out into the distance. "She believes I'm dead-murdered by Fox Mulder, of all people-and I can't let her know otherwise."

"Must be lonely," Doggett commented.

"Not really," Casey looked back at Doggett, and the FBI Agent could see the deep sadness in the man, sadness so deep, that, perhaps Casey no longer really felt it; or, maybe he had become inured to it…

"The original John Casey," the man continued. "He looked _exactly_ like me, and he…well, he committed treason, and they killed him. So, General Beckman gave me his identity, and his life; and I guess that means she gave me his mother too."

Casey paused, took a deep breath, before speaking again…

"Mrs. Helen Casey lives in a retirement community in D.C., for high-up military brass, and she's just about the sweetest thing I've ever met. She doesn't know that her son died a traitor to the United States of America, and I intend to keep it that way. She doesn't deserve that grief."

There was a knock on the door, and a man, tall with angular features and kind eyes, walked into the room. He surveyed the scene with amused eyes.

"I seem to have missed a party," he said.

"Dr. Voss," Beckman got to her feet, relief in her eyes. "We seem to have a situation."

"So you insinuated on the phone," Voss took a seat. "How can I help?"

Chuck Bartowski listened as Dr. Dana Scully answered.

"We may well have yet another El Rico Abductee," She nodded at Casey, who was suddenly _very_ interested in his bowl of leftover rice and shrimp, as she briefly sketched a history of the day's revelations.

"I see," Voss regarded Casey, who was firmly keeping his eyes on his plastic bowl

"How do you feel about possibly being a victim of Alien Abduction?"

Casey snorted in disgust at the psychiatrist's question.

"Its bull," he finally looked up at Voss. "There's no such thing as little green men."

"Actually," Voss corrected him. "I've been told they're _gray_ ; and some of them aren't so little…"

"Whatever…" Casey shrugged.

Voss stood.

"General Beckman has given me orders to regress you," he said. "I know you have some serious reservations about this-"

"I don't like people poking about in my mind," Casey growled. "My mind is my _own_."

"I would agree, if these were normal circumstances," Voss nodded. "But these aren't normal circumstances; are they?"

Casey grunted; #24, _whatever you say bub_ …

"So," Agent Doggett cleared his throat. "What's the program?"

"Colonel Casey is what we call a _highly resistant subject_ ," Voss said. "He'll need to be sedated for this, and I would like Dr. Scully to be here too; partly because of her extensive knowledge of the El Rico Situation-second only to Fox Mulder-but also because she is a medically-trained doctor, and we will be using drugs, and possibly uncovering potential traumas-both of which can be stressful on the body. Lastly, I would like someone the Colonel trusts, simply to sit by his side and be there for him."

* * *

Chuck wasn't really all that surprised when Casey's eyes turned to General Beckman.

"General?"

Beckman nodded, gave a slight bow.

"I would be honored, John," she said.

"Okay," Voss handed Doggett a list. "Here's what we'll need."

"Hospital bed…IV stands…"Doggett read it aloud. "…EEG…why don't you just do this at the hospital?"

"There are issues of security as well as of medicine," Beckman answered him. "Never mind, the NSA shall provide what you need."

An hour later, the Interrogation Chamber was transformed yet again, the long table out in the hall. In its place was a fully-equipped hospital bed, IV stand nearby, as well as a heart-monitor, an oxygen tank, and-just in case-a crash cart…

_Really hope we don't need that_ , Chuck thought as he watched from the outer room, along with Sarah Walker, John Doggett, and Monica Reyes. The others, except for John Casey, were busy setting up the equipment, under Voss' guidance.

John Casey was standing there, and Chuck was sure he felt like a fifth wheel right now. He just kept on cracking his knuckles…

"Colonel," Beckman finally spoke up. "Please desist."

Awkwardly, Casey jammed his hands into his trouser pockets, ill at ease in every line of his body.

"All right, we're ready to go," Voss slipped on a pair of eyeglasses. "Sit on the bed, Colonel, and please take off your shirt."

The next few minutes passed swiftly, getting Casey prepped for the session. Soon, he was lying on the bed, electrodes attached to his chest, heart monitor on, and the drugs, via the IV stand, slowly entering his system.

Chuck could see Casey was nervous, maybe even scared just a little; his breathing and heart rate were both accelerated. Beckman sat down in the chair by the Colonel's side and took his hand.

"I'm here, John," she said. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Thanks," for Casey, at least, it was a small voice, and he was gripping Beckman's hand like a lost child. Eventually, though, his breathing and heart rate evened out, and his eyes fluttered shut…

Dr. Voss began his work…

""Hello," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty floaty…" Casey's voice sounded sleepy.

"Good," Voss got down to business. "I want you to focus on my voice. My voice is the only thing you hear. You are floating in an empty place, and you are utterly safe. No one can hurt you here. No _thing_ can hurt you here. There is only peace…"

Chuck watched in the outer room, and Voss slowly put Casey under. Now, the _real_ work could begin…

"All right," Voss continued. "Please tell me your full name."

"Jonathan Thomas Casey."

"That's good. Now, tell me your _true_ name, the one you were born with. 

"Knowle Justin Rohrer."

"All right, John. I want you to listen very carefully. I want you to go back in time. You're ten years old, and it's the twenty-sixth of November, 1973…"

Casey flinched, his breath hitching as he whimpered; a soft little sound of distress…

"What's wrong, Knowle?"

Voss spoke so soothingly.

"Mom and Dad are fighting," Casey's voice had changed somehow. Still as deep as ever, but Chuck, as he listened, was left in no doubt that this was a _child_ speaking…

"I hate it when they fight…" Casey was shivering.

"What are they fighting about? Can you find out?"

"I don't want to," Casey started to fidget.

"I understand, Knowle" Voss pressed. "But this is important. I need to find out, and I need your help. Will you please do this for me?"

Casey squirmed a little. Finally, he spoke again.

"They're fighting about _me_ …" he said in disbelief. "Mom says I have to go somewhere; but Dad…he says he's gonna call the cops…"

His breath caught as he choked back a sob…

"Knowle, what's happening?"

"He left," Casey's voice was trembling. "I heard his car. Mom's telling me I have to get ready to go."

"Tell me everything about the trip, Knowle. Tell me everything you can…"

The kindly voice summons up long-blocked memories, and Knowle Rohrer remembers…

* * *

_He's quiet on the ride, still trying to process the fact that his Dad left home after an argument with his Mom. They've been driving since Dad left last night, only stopping for bathroom breaks, and McDonalds highway fare. Now, they've almost made it to El Rico Base. Something very important is supposed to happen there, and Knowle's Mom wants him to be there for it…_

"Why are we going there, Mom? What's going to happen there?"

"Hush, sweetie," his Mom grips the steering wheel with white fingers. "We'll be there soon."

When they finally arrive, Knowle gets out of the car, looks around. Its night now, and there are all these people out in the middle of the base.

Mom gets out of the car, enfolds him in a hug…

"Knowle, honey," she whispers into his hair. "Be a good boy, will you?"

"Mom?"

He can't help the quaver in his voice. Is Mom leaving too?

"Mrs. Rohrer," a heavyset man walks up, looks down at the boy. "So, this is young Knowle Rohrer."

"Sir," Knowle may be scared, but politeness has been drilled into him all his life…

He offers a tentative handshake. The man solemnly shakes his hand.

"Are you ready to go, Knowle?"

Startled by the question, Knowle lifts questioning eyes to Mom.

"I never got the chance to tell Knowle," she apologizes. "Justin refused to accept it."

"Justin has been taken care of," the man says, and Knowle hears his mother's sharp intake of breath. Then, she is back in control, and this frightens Knowle more than anything else has…

"Mom, where am I going?"

He doesn't see any luggage, so he can't be going all that far…

His Mom hugs him, hard, and he can tell she's crying…

"Be good, baby," she whispers in his ear. "You'll be back in no time at all, and I'll be waiting got you when you get back."

Someone takes him by the hand, guides him to a group of people. Some are kids, some are grownups; all of them are scared…

One of the grownups comes over to him, and he recognizes her.

"Aunt Cassandra!"

He hurls himself into her arms, and Cassandra hugs him back.

"I was hoping they wouldn't choose you," Cassandra says mournfully.

"What's happening?"

Maybe Aunt Cassandra can tell him what's going on, why his Dad had to be "taken care of", why Mom was crying, why he's going on a trip without luggage…

That's when the brilliant light flares up, blinding Knowle. Aunt Cassandra takes his hand, pulls him closer in a protective embrace. Now, there are more people here; like no one he has ever seen before. Some are small, and slight of build-more kids, Knowle wonders-and others that are tall and scrawny, with skinny arms and legs. Most of them circle Knowle's group, but the tallest one walks on to meet a man holding the American Flag; and Knowle recognizes him, too…

Uncle Chris-all the grownups call him CGB-and, for once, he's not smoking. Instead, he does a terrible thing. He lays the Flag on the ground, at the feet of the skinny stranger, and the stranger picks it up in his scrawny arms…

Now, Knowle's only ten years old. But, he's also the son of an Air Force Pilot-a Korean War Hero-and he knows what his Uncle Chris just did…

He has surrendered the Flag, and all that Flag represents-America, itself-to this group of strangers

Stunned by what he has just witnessed, Knowle looks more closely at the strangers, finally sees the thing that's been bugging him since they first appeared.

Their eyes…

Huge, and **black** ; no whites or colored parts; just empty-looking glossy pits of depthless black…

The strangers claim Knowle's group, and. For the first time in his life, he feels terror, blind, unreasoning terror. They take Knowle, Aunt Cassandra, and all the others, and…and…There are tests…there are experiments, and there is agony…too much agony for a ten-year-old to process…

"Knowle, listen to my voice. I want you to wake up…

The kindly voice intrudes on this sudden hell…

"On the count of three, you will wake up. One…two…three…"

The thunderous handclap explodes inside his skull…

* * *

John Casey awakened suddenly, held by strong, comforting arms. A very small part of his mind struggled to recall just _who_ had been sitting next to him. The greater part of his mind, though, was awash in grief…and betrayal…

He shook with it, not entirely in control of his body, wracked by those gasping, choking sobs. He remembered… _everything_.

He remembered _them_ …those black-eyed not-human creatures, all the tests, all the experiments, all the…torture…

"John…" the voice pulled him back from the abyss. Slowly lifting his aching head, he saw General Beckman's concerned eyes looking back at him.

Mortified beyond all reason- _was I crying in her arms like a little baby?_ -he pulled away, tried to pull himself together.

But, it was hard…

His own mother…She…she…

"She _gave_ me to them," Grief transmuted to rage. "She handed me over like a god-damned spoil of war."

"I'm sorry," Voss said. "Thing is, you weren't the only one."

"I know," Casey slowly sat up, peeling the electrodes off his chest. "My Aunt Cassandra was there. I think she's related to Jeffrey Spender…"

"She was…"Scully looked stunned. "She was your Aunt?"

"By marriage," Casey explained. "Her husband was my mother's brother."

"Oh, my god," Scully looked gob smacked. But she was nodding too. "It all makes sense now…"

"Maybe to you," Beckman laid a protective hand on Casey's shoulder. "The rest of us would like an explanation…"

"It's all in the genes," Scully said. "The Spender genes, in particular."

"I hope you don't mean CGB Spender," Beckman complained. "My people have been looking for him for almost ten years."

"Don't bother," Scully shook her head. "He's dead. He was killed in the Anasazi Ruins in 2003."

"Well…" Beckman murmured softly. "That settles that…"

Scully seemed to shake herself, and then got back down to business.

"CGB Spender had two sons," she said. "One through lawful marriage, the other through a misalliance with Teena Mulder, then married to Bill Mulder. It seems that both Mulder children were the result of that affair."

"Ouch," Casey muttered softly. "That musta done wonders for Bill Mulder's pride…"

Scully briefly spoke of Fox Mulder's belief that his sister Samantha, had been taken by aliens-oddly enough, the day after the El Rico Abductions-and his years-long search for the truth.

Then, she mentioned Mulder's abduction, the unsuccessful attempt to turn him into a Super Soldier…

"They tried to turn Mulder into… _that?_ "

Casey was appalled.

"Yes," Scully nodded. "There was also an attempt to turn Jeffrey Spender into one, as I recall. In his case, he was horribly disfigured by the process."

"But, Fox Mulder escaped unscathed, didn't he?" Beckman pointed out. "Can the process be reverted?"

"No, General. First, we were…very lucky…"

She paused, and Casey could see she was remembering those terrible days…

"We were lucky," Scully came back to herself. "Secondly, there has been a recent spate of…incidents…which lead me to believe they, whoever they are, have revived the Super Soldier Program, and, it seems they have changed the mode of…infection…"

"How are they doing it now?" Casey didn't want to hear it, but he had been dealing with unpleasant realities for most of his life. Hiding from the truth wasn't going to help anyone…

"Bear in mind that while the Super Soldier Knowle Rohrer may be dead, Billy Miles and Shannon McMahon remain unaccounted for. I know Agent Doggett and I saw her die, apparently killed by Knowle Rohrer, but they were both far away from Magnetite at the time, and the Rohrer Super Soldier clearly survived, so we must assume McMahon is also alive…"

"So, what's the mode of…infection…as you call it?"

"People suffer mysterious physical attacks that seem to lead to a wasting disease that seemingly has no cure. The victims usually die within the week. Then they just…disappear, often right out of the morgue."

She looked at Casey, and then said…

"You, Colonel, are related to Jeffrey and CGB Spender, and Fox and Samantha Mulder. Of the above mentioned individuals, three have been abducted, and the fourth has serious responsibility for those abductions. _You_ , yourself, have been abducted. It's pretty clear you have some value to these people, whoever they are. Maybe all this is an attempt to reclaim you, for whatever purpose…"

Casey was pulling on his shirt-that fugly green Buy More polo-as she spoke.

"I'd rather be dead…" he muttered. Beckman turned worried eyes on him.

"John?"

"I'm telling you, Ma'am, that if it looks like I'm gonna turn into… _that_ …I'd rather be dead."

Beckman nodded, and he was reassured. She knew the score…

"Are we done here?"

Suddenly, Casey felt bone tired; the events of the day taking their toll…

"I think so, John," Beckman nodded. "Agents Bartowski and Walker can take you home."

"Ma'am," Casey stood, faced her. "I…"

He had no words. They just refused to come…

"We'll figure it out in the morning," Beckman's eyes searched his face; for what, Casey couldn't tell. "Get some rest; and we'll talk tomorrow."

"Ma'am," Casey stepped out of the Interrogation Chamber, saw Reyes, Doggett, Walker and Bartowski; four faces showing varying degrees of worry. Bartowski looked rattled, and Casey had to wonder how many times the kid had Flashed today. Guy looked like he would not be getting any sleep today.

Not so for Colonel Casey. He felt drained; to the very marrow…

"C'mon, John," Sarah Walker, at least, was maintaining her professional demeanor.

_Unlike a certain NSA agent who cried like a little baby in General Beckman's arms_ …

He still felt shattered by all that he had remembered.

_Who would do that to a child?_

Now, he was _grateful_ that he hadn't been able to communicate with his real mother. And he was grateful for Mrs. Helen Casey, who loved her _Johnny-boy_ …

"Let's get you home," Sarah Walker repeated.

"Yeah," Bartowski came up. "You need sleep."

The drive home was quiet, for which Casey was-again!-grateful. He was still feeling wobbly from the hypnosis; the drugs would take a while to clear his system. But, he had his guns back, so he no longer felt quite so naked…

"Hey, buddy," Bartowski's hand on his shoulder jolted him back into wakefulness. "We're here."

Rubbing his face, mortified at having zoned out, Casey got out of the car.

"It's all right, John" Walker reassured him. "You got put through the mill today. You'll feel better after a good night's sleep."

Chuck headed for the apartment he now shared with Morgan Grimes, and Walker drove back to the Castle, and Casey was alone, in the late evening. Sighing, he punched the ten-digit code on the lock, let himself in. Then, he did his usual careful check. Everything seemed normal on the ground floor, so he proceeded to do the upstairs check. The bedroom window was open…

He reached behind his back, for the gun tucked in the waistband of his trousers, wasn't quite fast enough…

A whirling fury kicked the gun out of his hand, and then latched itself onto his back, arm around his throat, beginning to squeeze, He hurled the intruder over his head, reached for the gun in his ankle-holster. Again, the attacker kicked the gun out of his hand. A powerful jab to the solar plexus drove the air out of his lungs, and a final kick to the right temple sent him flying down the stairs.

Stars exploded in his skull as he hit the floor, and he laid there, arms and legs not working properly. It was all he could do just to breathe, his vision blurring in and out.

He felt the attacker's hand turning him over, so he laid face up, the attacker straddling him. He saw the attacker's face, and his world just…stopped.

"Hello, Knowle," Shannon McMahon grinned down at him as her hands wrapped around his neck. "It sure took a long time to find you."

Caught there, with her hands slowly throttling the life out of him; his arms and legs refused to work, and he was _helpless_ …

"Don't worry, Knowle," she said through the haze. "I'm not going to kill you; not right away, at least…"

She bit her tongue, until the blood dribbled out of her mouth. Then, still choking the life out of him, she kissed him, and he felt her tongue in his mouth, he blood in his mouth, and the back of his throat. His heart hammered in his ears as his vision grayed out, into deepest black…

* * *

It was the strange crashing noise that made Chuck Bartowski pause as he was about to embark on a rousing game of Duck Hunt with Morgan Grimes.

"Hey," Grimes protested. "We just got started, man!"

"Not now, Morgan!"

Chuck raised a hand for silence, and listened…

There it was again, and it sounded a lot like a body falling down the stairs…

_Its Casey's apartment!_

Heart hammering, he speed-dialed Sarah Walker's number.

"Chuck," she answered immediately. "What's wrong?"

"Something's happening at Casey's place," Chuck hissed as he peered out of his living room window. No lights were on in Casey's apartment. But someone else had heard the noise…

"Uh-oh…"

"What is it, Chuck?"

"Captain Awesome's out there, armed with a baseball bat…" Chuck's imagination was conjuring up images of disaster…

"Get out there and stop him," Sarah ordered. "I'll get the cavalry…"

Chuck ran to the door, ready to charge out, was stopped by Morgan.

"What's going on?"

"Morgan," Chuck took a deep breath, let it out. "Just stay inside, okay? Something really _bad_ is happening right now."

"Is it Casey? Is he in trouble? I thought you said the FBI cleared him!"

"They did, Morgan," Chuck gripped Grimes' shoulders. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course, man! You're my brother-in-arms, the best friend a man could ever have!"

"Then, do as I say, Morgan. Stay inside, and don't get involved."

With that, he stepped outside and closed the door. Then, he moved to intercept Devon Woodcomb., who had been doing a pretty good job of sneaking up to Casey's front door. He yelped when Chuck touched his shoulder.

"What are you trying to do?"

Chuck felt free to scold him; Devon knew the truth, at least in part.

"Didn't you hear that noise, Chuck? Sounds like Casey might be in trouble."

He hefted his baseball bat as he spoke.

"And, you think a _baseball bat_ is going to help? Put that down before you get yourself killed-"

He was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass as the living room windows of Casey's apartment exploded outward in a million sparkling shards of glass, and a body, slender and athletic, tumbled out, landing gracefully on its feet…

On _her_ feet, Chuck corrected himself, feeling sick as he recognized Shannon McMahon.

"Get back, Devon!"

He was relieved to see that Devon obeyed his command. Shannon, for her part, wiped her bloody mouth, smirking at them.

"I'll be back to collect him," she said. "When it's time…"

Then, she was off, running for the gate that enclosed the apartment complex. Chuck was certain he would never forget what happened when she reached the gate. She jumped over the gate…

Over the gate…

_Just like the Six Million Dollar Man_ …

"I don't believe it," Devon stopped to clear his throat. "Did we just see her jump over the gate?"

"Yeah," Chuck agreed. "We both saw her jump over the gate."

Then, he remembered…

"Casey!"

Quickly, he inputted the ten-digit code-he had Flashed on that ages ago, and cautiously pushed the door open. Casey lay unconscious at the foot of the stairs; and, for a heart-stopping moment, Chuck was sure he was dead.

Devon moved quickly, kneeling by the body, feeling at the base of the throat for a pulse.

"Dude's alive," he said. "But she sure did a number on him."

Casey's face was a mass of bruises, and blood leaked slowly from a corner of his mouth.

"Chuck!"

Sarah Walker stood in the doorway. Behind her were Beckman, Doggett, Reyes, and Scully.

"Casey was attacked," Chuck explained. "It was Shannon McMahon."

"She still here?"

. Doggett had his gun out as he spoke

"No," Chuck felt ill as he spoke. "But, she said she would be back for him later…"

"We need to get the Colonel to a hospital at once," Scully said. "We need to find out if he's been…infected."

"You said there's no cure," Chuck forced himself to meet Scully's eyes. "Didn't you?"

"Let's get him to the hospital first," Scully didn't meet his eyes. "Maybe there's a chance…"

Chuck could hear Beckman behind him, on the phone, calling for a NSA ambulance. There was no mistaking the fear he saw in her eyes.

The ambulance was there in minutes…

Devon looked up as Sarah let the ambulance in.

"Looks like I'm drafted again," he spoke resignedly.

"I know…" Chuck sighed. "Sorry…"

"Don't apologize, Bro," Devon admonished him. "Casey's a good man, and I'm proud to serve in whatever capacity I can. It's just…"

"I'll tell Ellie," Chuck volunteered. "I'll let you know the cover story later…"

His sister was outside now, staring at the shattered glass, at the ambulance, at the attendants carefully loading John Casey onto the stretcher, at the oxygen mask that covered his nose and mouth…

"Oh, my god..." Ellie whispered. "What happened to John? Was it the killer?"

"We don't know, Ma'am," Agent Doggett got there first. "Everything's under control now. You can go back to bed."

"But, where's Devon?"

"He's going to the hospital with Casey," Chuck joined his sister. "I'm sure Casey's going to be fine; but you know Devon…"

"Yes," Ellie relaxed. "He's so good; you know? A truly good man…"

"I know," Chuck said. "Look, El, I know you're tired, and I think I recall hearing that you have the early shift tomorrow. You'd better get some sleep."

"What about you?"

"Me? Uh…" Chuck stammered for a bit. "I'm going to follow them to the hospital, so Casey will see a familiar face when he wakes up."

Ellie drew him into a fierce hug.

"Let me know how he is," she said. "He's my friend too…"

"Will do," Chuck watched as the stretcher was loaded into the ambulance, Devon clambering in behind. Then, the ambulance was off, lights whirling, sirens wailing.

"Chuck," Sarah Walker was by his side. "Follow me."

John Doggett's weathered Taurus took everyone to what looked like a decrepit warehouse. The group entered the warehouse, saw the empty ambulance parked there.

"Is this another Castle?"

"No, Agent Bartowski," Beckman moved to a nearby wall. "This is a NSA Infirmary."

She laid her palm flat against the wall, and a part of the wall slid open to reveal an elevator with only two buttons.

_Upstairs…_

_Downstairs_ …

The elevator took them _Downstairs_ , to a thoroughly modern hospital; albeit one with a distinctly military edge…

A young guard snapped to attention.

"General Beckman, Ma'am!"

Beckman returned the salute.

"At ease, Sergeant," she said. "Where is Colonel John Casey?'

"This way, Ma'am…"

Casey was still unconscious when the group reached him. Devon was busy examining Casey's pupils with a penlight.

"He's got a concussion," he explained to Beckman. "So, we won't be able to do much until he comes to."

Does this place have a full medical lab?"

"Yes," Beckman answered Scully's question. "It's as up-to-date as the NSA can make it."

_So, its pretty effing advanced_ , Chuck thought to himself.

"Good," Scully took over command of the situation. "I'll want samples of his blood drawn hourly for analysis. Also…"

She paused and looked at Devon.

"Are you his doctor?"

"As near as, I guess," Devon replied. "What's with all the blood-testing?"

"The attacker may have passed on a rare transmittable condition," Scully said. "You will also need to check the back of his neck."

"The back of his neck…" Devon repeated her words, as if he were in doubt of her sanity.

"Check for bumps," Scully continued. "And palpate the area. Don't rely on a simple visual examination."

Scully's cobalt-blue eyes sought out the rest of the group, as they stood in appalled silence.

"And," she added. "If any of you know how to do so…pray."

Chuck felt numb as he looked down at the Colonel. With the oxygen cannulae in his nose, and the bruises on his face-and his neck too-John Casey didn't look so tough now…

_Please, dear God_ …

_Don't let him die_ …

"


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end...

Dr. Dana Scully was alone with her patient in the small room at the NSA Infirmary. She looked down at John Casey-Knowle Rohrer-as she drew blood from his right arm, and then inserted an IV tube of broad-based antibiotics to combat any… _infection._

_Those who serve deserve better than being unwilling experimental test subjects…_

With Casey's blood on its way down to the med lab for testing, there remained the other examination to perform. Gently, Scully reached under the back of the unconscious man's neck, probing for signs of the tell-tale "Super Soldier's Lump"…

He stirred uneasily under her hands, shoulders stiffening slightly. According to his files, Casey was slightly phobic about touch, a fact that had baffled the NSA psychs. There had been nothing in John Casey's files to account for such a thing.

But they had been looking at the wrong childhood…

Knowle Rohrer, abducted at the age of ten, and experimented upon by ruthless men, had plenty of reason to develop a touch phobia.

"Shh…" Scully spoke soothingly, caressing his shoulder. "It's all right. You're safe now. Go back to sleep…"

Casey's body relaxed, and he settled into a deeper state of sleep. Sighing, Scully's hand went to her little silver cross. Over the years, that tiny cross had been a source of constant comfort, through the loss of her father and sister, her abduction, Emily's life and death, Mulder's abduction, her impossible pregnancy, and that bleak, _awful_ period of time when Mulder had been dead, or so close to dead as to make no practical difference…

She remembered burying him, in the old Mulder family plot, right next to his father, Bill Mulder. And, she remembered when they dug him out too, three months later, and that joyous moment when he had opened his eyes, and Squirrel had her beloved Moose back…

That silver cross had seen her through everything, that terrible time when she had to give her son-William-up for adoption, to keep him safe from the Super Soldiers, and the even worse day, when Fox Mulder had been convicted for the murder of a man who was still alive…

She looked down at John Casey, Knowle Rohrer…

_I hated you,_ she told him silently. _I hated you, and I wanted you dead…_

Scully sighed…

_How wrong I was…You need this more than I do..._

She clasped the chain around Casey's neck, tucked the little cross under the neck of his hospital gown so it lay on his upper chest. He didn't stir this time. She stood there, looking down at him, and all she could do was pray…

_Dear God, protect him. Keep him from harm…_

* * *

Colonel John Casey was aware of none of this. He was too busy dreaming of a time when he had been Knowle Rohrer, ten years old, and in _their_ clutches…

_He huddles under thin sheets. They did tests today, sticking tubes into him everywhere they could; including places where no tube was ever supposed to go. Now he hurts all over, inside and out, and all he can do is whimper. The door opens, and it's Aunt Cassandra. She's walking like she hurts too, but she has a bright smile for Knowle._

_"Hey…" she drags a chair over to his bed, sits, and ruffles his hair. "I'm here now. Try to sleep, okay?"_

_"It hurts," he sniffles, embarrassed at crying like a baby. But it hurts too much. "I want to go home._

_Aunt Cassandra takes him into her arms, holds him tightly._

_"I know, sweetie," she sighs. "I know…"_

_She rocks him gently, begins to sing…_

_Hush, little baby, don't say a word,  
Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird._

_And if that mockingbird don't sing,  
Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring…._

_As she sings, pain and fear ease. Warm and safe in Aunt Cassandra's arms-at least for now-Knowle Rohrer closes his eyes and sleeps…_

Pulsing pain in his head brought Colonel Casey back. Immediately, he tried to take stock of his situation. Judging by the room he was in, it looked like he was in a hospital. He felt the oxygen cannulae in his nose, pulled it out. He was about to try getting to his feet, when he felt something, delicate and cool, lying against his chest. His fingers sought it out…

A little cross on a chain…

He almost hurled it off his neck. Through over twenty years of service in the NSA, whatever religious faith he had once had had been stomped on, dragged through the mud, and virtually beaten to death within him. But he remembered a time when he had believed in God, a time when he had been a choirboy-both literally and figuratively. In spite of himself, his fingers closed around the little cross…

The door opened, startling him out of his reverie, and Devon Woodcomb walked in.

"You're awake!"

Captain Awesome sure had a knack for stating the obvious…

"Where are we?" he asked the doctor as he lay his aching head back against the pillow.

"General Beckman had you sent to a NSA Infirmary," Woodcomb stood over him; typical Doctor/Patient stance. "What do you remember?"

_Shannon McMahon…_

"I think she made me swallow her blood…" Casey felt cold with fear at the memory. Had she infected him?

"Dr. Scully had you put on antibiotics right from the start," Woodcomb reassured him.

_Maybe it'll help…_

"How long was I out of it?"

"Around ten hours, John. Everyone's in the Waiting Room. I'll go get them."

Woodcomb turned, left the room. Casey suddenly felt terrified, his hand coming to rest on the little silver cross-who had put that around his neck?-sending his prayers up to a God he wasn't sure existed…

_Please, God. Don't let that happen to me…_

* * *

"He's awake!"

Captain Awesome's voice brought Chuck out of his light doze. The others-Sarah Walker, General Beckman, and FBI Agents Monica Reyes, and John Doggett-were all getting to their feet. Like him, they had all been caught napping, and General Beckman, at least, seemed to be embarrassed about it…

_She's been running herself ragged these last few days…_

Dr. Scully entered the room-she had been spending several hours in the med lab-and, now that everyone was together, they all trooped in to see the Colonel…

Chuck felt something deep inside him ease when he saw Casey. The big guy's face was turning all the colors of the rainbow. But, he looked alert; and grumpy…

"Hey, Casey…" Chuck didn't bother to stifle the wide grim. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Bartowski," Casey rumbled. "So, let's try to leave the lady feelings out of it, okay?"

_Yep! Casey's back to normal!_

"So," Casey brought his gaze to Dr. Scully. "What's the prognosis?"

"I need to check the back of your neck one more time," she said.

"Okay, what do I do?"

"Please sit up, Colonel, and lean forward."

Chuck watched as Casey followed Scully's instructions. She felt at the back of his neck, fingers probing, provoking a hiss of pain from the Colonel.

"Ahh…" there was regret in Scully's voice. "I was hoping the antibiotics would have an effect…"

Casey went still, and, for the first time he could recall, Chuck saw terror in Casey's eyes. A terror that he felt too, in equal measure…

"They didn't work?"

General Beckman's voice shattered the sudden, appalled silence.

"No," Scully replied. "The lump is small now, but it can't be removed; the filaments from which the lump is made are in his brain, spinal column, and the bones of his skull. And the lump will get larger"

As Scully spoke, Chuck saw that Casey had closed his eyes, fingers clutching a tiny silver cross- _where had he gotten that?_ -lips moving soundlessly in…prayer?

General Beckman had also closed her eyes, the pain in her clear to see; and now Chuck knew that-in her own stern way-Diane Beckman loved John Casey too…

Casey looked back up at her, calm resolve in his eyes.

"General Beckman," he spoke clearly. "I request permission to eradicate a threat against the United States of America."

_He's asking permission? Why would he need to ask permission to eradicate a threat against…oh._

"You can't kill yourself, Casey!"

The words slipped out of Chuck, almost without conscious thought.

"Bartowski…" Casey hesitated, seemed to be counting to ten. Then, taking a deep breath, he continued.

"I can't let this…thing…take its course. I do that, I become the enemy. It's that simple."

"But, you _can't!_ "

Chuck was trembling.

"There's got to be another way," he insisted.

"Another way…" Casey shook his head. But, he didn't say it in scorn. There was a gentleness rarely heard in Casey's voice as he continued to speak…

"This is Real Life, Bartowski. The Good Guys don't always live, and the Bad Guys don't always die. And, sometimes, the Good Guy has to let himself die, so all that he believes in, all that he has fought for, will continue to live. I don't want to become a Super Soldier…"

"Then killing yourself is the last thing you should do," Dr. Scully spoke up. "If you kill yourself, you wouldn't be halting the process. You would be _accelerating_ it."

"Don't tell me I'm screwed," Casey glared at her. "I'm dead. I know that. But, there has to be a way to prevent the process, to keep me from turning into… _that_."

Scully sighed, closing her eyes.

"There is," she spoke slowly, reluctantly…

"What is it?"

Scully bit her lip. It was clear she didn't want to say it…

"I think I know…"

Agent Doggett cleared his throat as everyone turned to him.

* * *

John Doggett sighed as all eyes focused on him. Thing was, he didn't want to say it either…

_Go to a site of magnetite ore, and let it take you…_

He had seen what magnetite did to Super Soldiers, wouldn't wish that on anyone; least of all a friend…

"Agent Doggett," Casey spoke quietly. "If you have something, I would love to hear it."

"You won't like what I have to say…"

"Agent Doggett, I took an oath; to protect my country, to die for it if necessary; to protect my country from all that threaten her. Right now, it's me. _I'm_ the threat…"

"I understand. But, Casey… _Knowle_ …it's not a good way to die."

"Still better than becoming a Super Soldier," Casey said. He hesitated.

"It's the magnetite, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Doggett nodded. "And, like I said, it's a bad way for anyone to die."

"I appreciate your concern, Agent Doggett," Casey swung his gaze to Scully. "But, I'm gonna die anyway, isn't that right?"

"The virus is fatal, yes," Scully nodded. "You will be dead within the week."

General Beckman had stood quietly through all of that, clearly grieving. But, when she spoke, he voice was as calm as ever.

"We need to identify all pockets of magnetite ore," she said. "Further, we are faced by two chief obstacles. Firstly, magnetite is a genuinely rare substance, with only a few known deposits in the United States. Secondly-with due apologies to the Colonel-it's only a matter of time before the symptoms of his final illness begin to manifest themselves…"

Doggett saw Casey flinch, then quickly bow his head, as if ashamed of his reaction.

_No shame in that, Knowle,_ he told the Colonel silently. _If it were me, I would be gibbering in mortal terror…_

General Beckman was scribbling something on a piece of paper. She handed the paper to Chuck Bartowski. The kid looked down at the sheet, back up to her.

"W-what do you want me to do with this?"

"Agent Bartowski," Beckman fixed him with a steely gaze. "I want you to do that which you do so well…"

Doggett didn't get how she expected Bartowski to be able to do anything on the spot like that; as if he had a Search Engine in his head.

_Yeah…Right…_

"You're ordering me to help Casey kill himself?"

"No," it was Casey who answered. "I'm already dead. My body just doesn't know it yet. I'm asking you to save my _soul_ ; help me die a free man."

Bartowski's eyes were filling; tear tracks visible on his cheeks. He nodded jerkily.

"Yeah, big guy…" he said huskily. "I can do that…"

He looked down at the small paper in his hand. It looked like he was beginning to have a seizure, eyes gone wide, lids fluttering. He snapped out of it, began listing locations-latitude and longitude-as Beckman wrote it all down on a notepad.

Doggett stared at Bartowski.

_Maybe he does have a search engine in his head after all…_

* * *

John Casey watched Bartowski Flash, saw the kid's anguish as he listed all the magnetite deposits. It was funny, in a way. He felt fine, fully recovered from Shannon McMahon's attack. But, he was dying, would be dead within the week. And, after that…

_No! I will not allow that to happen to me._

Beckman cleared her throat, commanding his attention, along with everyone else.

"There are two sites within our reach," she said. "One of those sites is located in the Anasazi Ruins, and…Agent Doggett?

Doggett had flinched at mention of the Anasazi Ruins.

"It's okay," he hastened to reassure everyone. "It's just that…uh… _he_ …died there; the Super Soldier Knowle Rohrer…"

"CGB Spender also died there," Scully said. "This brings us to one more problem. We all know that Shannon McMahon is alive and active. Billy Miles could also be active; he remains unaccounted for. Mc Mahon has already stated that she would be back to…retrieve…the Colonel; most likely after his death."

"Yes," Beckman nodded. "I've already had an APB put out on both of them-the highest possible threat rating-so, if they do turn up, we do have a good chance of knowing about it. But, since Shannon McMahon seems to have known Knowle Rohrer well, it's possible she may know his intentions. We should factor that into our strategy planning."

"We'll be moving ASAP?" Casey asked her.

"Yes, John," Beckman assured him. "We have no choice but to move as swiftly as possible."

"Good," Casey swung his legs off the bed. "I need some real clothes. Can't go out in hospital jammies…"

"I've had a fresh set brought from your apartment," Beckman said.

"Not that god-awful green shirt?"

"Relax," Bartowski spoke up. "It's your normal Basic Black set…"

Good. He wasn't about to spend the last few days of his life stuck in that fugly green polo…

And, there it was again, as unbelievable as it felt.

_I'm dying…_

There were so many ways for an NSA assassin to exit this world; shot to shit in a firefight, tortured to death in a nameless dungeon somewhere, killed by poison, blown to smithereens...

But, death by alien virus…That, right there, was one the experts had never seen fit to warn him about.

"Casey?"

He looked up at Devon Woodcomb. The doctor was holding a pile of folded clothes, and the others had all filed out of the room. Woodcomb hovered as Casey stood, as if afraid Casey would collapse any second…

"Dr. Woodcomb," Casey sighed, an _I've had it to here_ sigh. "I'm perfectly capable of getting dressed without someone holding my hand."

"Yeah," Woodcomb shrugged uneasily. "It's just that…"

"I know," Casey face him. "I'm gonna get sick, and I _will_ need you then. But, not yet, got it?"

"Got it, bro," Woodcomb nodded, left the pile of clothes on the bed. When he was gone, Casey dressed quickly, back in his favorite dark colors; all the while, the question lay in the back of his mind…

_How long before I start getting sick? How long before I can't carry my own weight?_

* * *

_Four days later…_

Agent Sarah Walker was amazed at how quickly General Beckman had arranged things. Walker was sitting up front, in the passenger seat, next to the driver, Dr. Dana Scully. Agent Monica Reyes was in the back, keeping a watchful eye on a form huddled under warm blankets.

"We're almost there," Scully announced. "So, look sharp."

Almost there, at the Anasazi Ruins…

They were just ahead of that rocky wall that had…taken…the Super Soldier Knowle Rohrer all those years ago. On the left lay rocky flatlands, on the right lay a deep ravine; and right in front of them, blocking the way to the wall of magnetite, stood two people, a woman and a man.

"Shannon McMahon and Billy Miles," Scully said, pointing them out to Walker. The CIA agent reviewed everything she had been told about Super Soldiers.

_Super fast…super strong…and, except for magnetite, virtually unkillable…_

"Hang on," Scully gunned the engine. Walker braced herself as the minivan leaped forward in a spray of pebbles and grit. Miles threw himself out of the way. The van hit McMahon head on, sent her flying overhead. Walker only had eyes for Miles. Leaping out of the minivan's way had apparently brought him within reach of the magnetite within that rocky wall.

So Sarah Walker saw, for the very first time, how magnetite killed a Super Soldier, saw the young man's flesh char and crackle, as if burned, saw the body rendered down into dust as the rocky wall drew the remains into itself…

_Casey has that ahead of him…_

She gulped convulsively, blinked the tears back.

There was a thud as something landed on top of the minivan, began pounding on the roof, which buckled alarmingly. Scully looked at Walker and nodded.

_Time for Phase II…_

All three women, Walker, Scully, and Reyes, got out of the van, as McMahon continued to demonstrate the strength of a Super Soldier by literally tearing the roof right off the van. She dropped inside and kicked the van's back hatch open. That was when the shotgun blast rang out…

McMahon stumbled out of the van, a gaping hole in her middle.

"Hello, darlin'. Miss me?"

FBI Agent John Doggett stepped out of the back of the van, wearing black jeans and tee, blanket still around his shoulders, shotgun in his hand, cold steel in his gaze. Again, he fired his shotgun, hurling McMahon back toward the edge of the ravine. Again and again, he fired, until his last shot hurled her right off the edge, down into the ravine.

Calmly he stepped forward to the edge and looked down. What he saw apparently satisfied him.

"She didn't land in a magnetite patch, but she did bounce three times before she hit the ground. She'll be a while recuperating from that. Van still work?"

"Yes," Reyes was starting the van. "Looks like we get to ride back in a convertible…"

_Our part is done,_ Walker realized. _Our job was to be the decoy, so the others…Casey…could sneak behind, to the other lode of magnetite. We won…_

Some victory…

_John's going to die. He's going to offer himself to the magnetite, and it will take him, just like it took Billy Miles…_

She shuddered at the horror, the unfairness of it all. Casey was grouchy, he was snarky, and he was impatient. But, above all else, he was _true_ …

"Hey…" Doggett was there, tilting her head up with one hand, a thumb gently wiping her tears. She felt his arms go around her.

"It's all right to cry," there were tears in his voice two. "Guy deserves to be mourned"

They both stood there, united in their grief for a dear friend…


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End

Chuck Bartowski sat next to Diane Beckman as she drove the SUV to their appointed destination. She was wearing hiking clothes today-corduroy and denim-instead of her normal general's uniform. Chuck looked to the rear of the SUV. All the rear seats had been put down, leaving enough flat space for Colonel John Casey-wrapped in a warm sleeping bag-to lie down, with Devon Woodcomb-AKA Captain Awesome-sitting cross-legged, keeping a careful eye on his patient. Casey was wracked by fever now, shivering under the warm folds of the sleeping bag; but, at least he wasn't vomiting any more…

There had been little bits of metal glittering in the bile; a horrifyingly visible sign of the terrible thing now invading his body…

Beckman stopped the SUV, and Chuck looked around. The road they were on had simply ended. Now, there were just rolling hills topped by semi-arid vegetation. It was clear the SUV could go no further,

"We'll have to walk the rest of the way," Beckman announced. Then, she looked back at Casey, shivering under the sleeping bag, and Chuck could see the soul-deep grief in her…

"Do what you can to help him," she said to Chuck.

"I'd carry him myself if I thought I had the strength," he said, swallowing tears back.

"Don't worry bro," Devon climbed out the back. "I've got the Colonel covered."

Beckman and Chuck got out of the van, watched Woodcomb draw several items out of the van. He snapped the items together until he had created a serviceable sled, complete with sturdy shoulder harness. Chuck could only shake his head in wonder. Was there anything Captain Awesome could not do?

"Dr. Woodcomb requisitioned it just before we left," General Beckman seemed just as impressed by Awesome's…competence…as Chuck was.

"Well…"Devon gestured to the sled. "It's ready for Casey."

Chuck nodded, crawled into the back of the SUV, and knelt over Casey.

"Are we there yet, Bartowski?"

As ill as he was now, Casey still managed to be aware of everything happening around him.

"Not yet, Casey; the SUV can't go any further, so we'll have to walk. Devon's put together a sled for you, so…"

"I get it," the Colonel closed his eyes for a moment, clearly gathering his strength. Then, he pushed the sleeping bag to one side and slowly sat up.

"How are you feeling, big guy?"

"My hands and feet are getting tingly," Casey said. "I don't know if I'll be able to stand, much less walk."

"Don't worry," Chuck promised "I'll get you to the sled"

Casey nodded. Chuck dragged the sleeping bag out, tossed it to Woodcomb. Then, he backed out, giving Casey room to maneuver. Casey slid himself to the SUV's back hatch. From there, Devon and Chuck half-carried him, half-supported him the few feet to the sled.

"I feel ridiculous," Casey murmured as Devon got him all wrapped up in the sleeping bag.

"Nothing to feel ridiculous about, bro," Devon worked tirelessly, zipping the sleeping bag until the Colonel was safely cocooned in its warmth, then working the straps on the sled so Casey wouldn't fall out of the sled…

While Devon was fussing over his patient, Beckman and Chuck took several backpacks out of the SUV. Fortunately, there was plenty of room on the sled to tack on extra backpacks, including the large one full of medications Devon had insisted on bringing-morphine, in particular-and other packs containing foodstuffs and basic necessities.

Then, they shrugged into their own backpacks as Devon shrugged into the shoulder harness.

"I'll need you two," he spoke to Beckman and Chuck. "To be the path beaters for me; so Casey doesn't get bounced around too much."

Chuck nodded. Then-feeling very Hobbity, all of a sudden-he hefted his walking stick, saw Beckman do the same.

_If anyone qualifies as a Hobbit, it's her. She's so tiny…_

"Are you ready?"

The steely glint in Beckman's eyes drove all thoughts of Hobbits from Chuck's mind

Over the next several hours, the small group made their way up and down the rolling hills. Thanks to Captain Awesome's foresight about the sled, they made good time. But, eventually, it became too dark for travel…

"We're stopping here for the night," Beckman decided, and Devon dropped the shoulder harness and did a few quick stretching exercises before turning to his patient.

"Are you hurting, bro?"

"Yeah," Casey grimaced. "In my head and chest; and I can't feel my fingers or toes."

"That's the natural progression of the illness," Devon said. "And I can't help with that. But I can help with the pain."

"Yeah," Casey was looking up at him. "The numbness is gonna creep up, right?"

"Yep," Devon nodded sadly. "That's what's going to kill you. I'm sorry bro."

"Don't be, it's not your fault."

"Okay…how about some pain relief. Like I said, I can help with that. I brought some morphine."

"Isn't that addictive?"

"Casey…" Devon hesitated. "Honestly, with the amount of time you've got left, that won't be an issue."

"That soon, huh?"

"Two days, tops…"

"Okay," Casey nodded. "Lay it on me."

Chuck bit back the tears as he listed to the two men. It was all so wrong, Casey dying like this…

_You! No…I love you!_

_Keep it in your pants Bartowski!_

"You always caught me when I fell…" he murmured. "Why couldn't I catch you?"

As Chuck watched, the morphine seemed to take effect…

Grabbing a bottle of water, he brought it over.

"Hey, Casey," he knelt by his friend, now resting comfortably, nestled in the sleeping bag. "Are you thirsty?"

"Yeah…" Casey was looking up at him, blue eyes searching, as if committing his features to memory.

Chuck helped him sit up, got a good bit of the water into him, and then eased him back down.

"Thanks…" Casey's voice was stronger now. "Could you stay for a bit? I've got things I need to say to you. Probably won't get another chance to say it."

"Sure," Chuck settled himself by Casey's side. "I'm all ears."

"When I first met you…" Casey took a deep breath. "I thought you were a disaster on wheels, and you proved me wrong. I thought you would be dead, or bunkered, within the year, and you proved me wrong there too."

"I only survived because of you and Sarah," Chuck protested.

"Shut up and listen," Casey commanded.

"Sir, yes sir."

"My only regret is that I won't live to see what kind of agent you become. But, Chuck…I'm proud of you. I'm proud of your courage, and all you've done to defend our country."

"I'm going to miss you, Casey," Chuck spoke softly. "If only…"

"Don't wish for what you can't have, Bartowski. You're already defying the odds with this… _thing_ …you've got with Walker."

"Okay," Chuck smiled through his tears. "But, when Sarah and I finally get to start our family, our first son will be John Casey Junior, and you don't get to say _no_ to that."

Casey's features were lit by one of his rare smiles.

"I would never presume…" he said.

General Beckman strode up. Finished with her security arrangements.

"It's time to set the Watch," she said. "Dr. Woodcomb's sole responsibility is the Colonel's well-being, so the Watch doesn't devolve upon him. It's just you and I, Chuck, so get some sleep now, and I'll awaken you when it's your turn. Go to bed."

"Yes, Ma'am," Chuck stood. "Goodnight, John…General."

He went to his bedroll, was asleep in minutes…

* * *

Colonel John Casey was dreaming…

_It's 2000 AD, and Ty Bennet is driving the newly-minted John Casey to meet his brand-new…mother. In a way, Casey dreads the coming encounter, sure he'll say, or do something that will tip Helen Casey off to the fact that her son is not her son._

_"Relax, John," Bennet tries to reassure him. "She's been told you suffered a head injury, with minor amnesia. She'll chalk any mistakes you make to that."_

_Casey isn't reassured by that._

_A mother would know her son better than that…_

_They're back in DC stopping at an apartment complex reserved for retired high-ranking military brass and their spouses._

_"Are you ready?"_

_Bennet turns to him with a smile._

_Well…no…not really…_

_They are met outside the complex by the woman herself. Short and sturdily built, Mrs. Helen Casey still shows traces of what must have been a glorious mane of red hair back in her youth._

_"Oh, my dear Johnny-boy!"_

_Her arms go around Casey in a fiercely protective hug._

_"Diane told me your poor noggin took quite a blow; got your brains scrambled just a wee bit."_

_There's a touch of Ireland in her voice, the merest hint of lilt; and Casey is enchanted by this plain little woman…_

_"Uh…hi…uh…Mom."_

_He feels truly odd, saying that to a woman who isn't Patricia Rohrer. Helen picks up on his awkwardness…_

_"Never you mind, lad. Let's get you, and your friend, inside, get some hot soup and tea into you…"_

It was the sound of ground slithering by under him that brought John Casey back. He awakened to a brilliantly sunny day. Devon Woodcomb was on his right, and General Beckman was on his left; which meant Bartowski was the sled-dog for today. A spasm of pain worked its way through his chest.

"Stop, Chuck!"

The sled halted.

"What's wrong?" Chuck called back, sounding a little breathless.

"Dude's hurting, bro," Woodcomb said. "Use the time to catch your breath, and do those stretching exercises I showed you."

"Okay."

As Woodcomb rooted around in his backpack of morphine, Casey though of the dream he'd just had, of the day he had first met Mrs. Helen Casey. He had loved her instantly, only too glad to take on the role of dutiful son that the original John Casey had abandoned when he had turned traitor. The opportunities for contact had been limited; his job was too demanding of his time. But, Helen Casey knew-even if only in a general way-what he did, and was very understanding about it. Her love for her son was a simple thing; pure and unconditional, and John could only love her in return

Another spasm of pain rippled through his body, coursing down his spine. The numbness had crept up his arms and legs, leaving his feet and hands bereft of feeling. That and the damn near constant pain stabbing its way through his chest told him his time was drawing to a close.

"Hey," Woodcomb produced another vial of morphine. "This should put the pain down."

Casey felt Woodcomb fiddle with his arm, muttering something about _having trouble finding a good vein..._

"Finally…" The doctor murmured.

Casey had to hand it to Woodcomb. The man had a _fine_ hand when it came to needles. Most medics that Casey had come into contact with over the years would simply jab the needle in and hope for the best. Woodcomb, on the other hand, was finished with the shot almost before Casey realized he had started.

Now, _that_ , Casey freely admitted, was Awesome…

He heard Chuck Bartowski getting back into the shoulder harness, felt the sled begin to move again.

_We'll be there soon. Maybe even by tonight…_

Fear prickled its way up his spine. He didn't want to die the way his Super soldier clone had died. Hell…he didn't want to die at all. But some deaths were indisputably worse than others.

_If wishes were fishes we would all cast nets…_

The morphine began to take effect, sleep beckoning…

_It's the beeping sound that does it. Knowle Rohrer-all of ten years old-is slowly dragged back into wakefulness by the monotonous beeping. He's in a plain white room, with a bowl of flowers on the bedside table. There's a funny little tube-like thing stuck up his nose, plugging both nostrils, and more tubes stuck in his left arm. He frowns, trying to remember where he is, and how he got here. But there is no then to connect to now…_

_The door opens, and it's Mom…_

"You're awake!"

_She rushes to his side, ready to take him into her arms; then stops; as if she's afraid she might break him._

_"Mom…"his voice sounds funny with that tube-thing up his nose. "Where am I? What happened?"_

_"You don't remember?"_

_She looks relieved when he says no. She takes his hand._

_"How do you feel, Knowle?"_

_"My throat hurts."_

_"You were on a ventilator," she explains. "It had to breathe for you because you were in a coma. You were with your father, Knowle, and there was an accident."_

_The boy feels a touch of fear._

_"Dad?"_

_Knowle has always hero-worshipped his father-Justin Rohrer, Korean War Hero, Air Force pilot, a big man with flashing blue eyes, and a jovial temperament. Knowle promised himself that he would grow up to become everything his father is._

_Mom bites her lip, looks at him sadly._

_"Sweetie," she says. "Justin died in the accident."_

_The boy in the bed feels tears blur his vision._

_Dad's dead? He's not coming back?_

_He feels his Mom take him into her arms, and she's crying too..._ …

Pain, pulsing in his chest and head, pulled Casey out of the dream. It was dark outside, a small campfire burning merrily nearby. Dr. Woodcomb was bending over him.

"Hey, John," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"I can't feel my arms and legs," it was also getting hard to draw breath to speak.

"Yeah…"Devon laid a hand on Casey's chest. He could feel that, at least.

"How long do I have?" he asked the doctor.

"A couple of hours…maybe," Devon looked down sadly, looked back up. "We're here, John. The magnetite is just a few feet behind us. We're going to wait until…until you're…gone. That way, you won't feel it"

"Thank you," Casey closed his eyes in relief. His greatest fear had just been eased. Now, he could face death with…well…not exactly a smile…maybe the word he was looking for was… _peace_.

He remembered Scully's cross…

"Take the cross off me when I'm dead, Devon."

He didn't want to give it up just yet. Maybe there was just a little bit of faith left inside him after all…

"I'll do that, John," Woodcomb promised. "Are you in pain?"

"Yeah…"

Woodcomb gave him one more shot of morphine, then moved off.

"How is he?"

That was Chuck. Casey heard Woodcomb sigh sadly.

"He's dying, bro. Let the general sit by him tonight."

"Okay…" it sounded like Bartowski was crying.

Then, General Diane Beckman was bending over him. She fussed over him a little, making sure he was nestled comfortably in the sleeping bag, the one pillow nicely plumped and under his head. Then, she settled herself by his side, taking one of his numb hands in her own hand, clasping it firmly.

He wished he could feel her hand holding his, wished he could squeeze her hand in return. But the numbness was relentlessly creeping up his arms, legs, and torso. Already it was beginning to squeeze his chest. But, thanks to Devon-and the morphine-there was no pain; and blessed sleep was tugging at his eyelids.

"John" General Beckman's other hand was gently stroking his brow. "I'm here now. Get some sleep."

"Yes, Ma'am," he closed his eyes. He felt peace, utter and total peace, as he surrendered himself to the encroaching darkness…

_It's his earliest memory…two…maybe three years old; and he's airborne, shrieking in delight as strong, powerful hands catch him, toss him up again. And those powerful hands catch him again, sweeping him out of the air, holding him close._

_"Knowle…" Daddy's voice rumbles from his chest, rumbles right through Knowle's body. "My son, my boy…"_

_It's a timeless moment, and the little boy could rest there forever, safe and secure in Daddy's arms..._ "All right, you two!"

_Mommy's voice calls out._

_"Dinner's ready, Justin. Make sure Knowle washes his face and hands."_

_"Ma'am, yes Ma'am!"_

Daddy's hands shift and now a giggling Knowle is upside-down on Daddy's shoulder as Daddy marches to the bathroom…

* * *

General Diane Beckman sat by Colonel John Casey's side, his hand-as cold as any stone-clasped in her hands. There was nothing else she could do; except to watch him die. So, she sat there, listening to his labored breaths, watching his chest slowly rise and fall, each breath more shallow than the one before it. Then, the breath went out of him, softly…silently…

His chest didn't move again…

She looked at his face, saw peace there, his lips curved in a slight smile.

_Home is the hunter…_

She lay his hand down gently, setting it by his side.

_I will miss you, Colonel…_

She turned her head; saw Agent Bartowski, and Dr. Woodcomb, both sitting dejectedly by the fire.

"Dr. Woodcomb," she spoke. "I think Colonel Casey has breathed his last."

The doctor knelt by Casey's side, spent the next few minutes looking for a pulse. Finally, his shoulders slumped, and he laid a gentle hand on the motionless chest.

"Yes," he said sadly. "John Casey is dead."

Chuck stood too, stark grief etched into his features. Now that Casey was dead, a feeling of helplessness had descended upon them all.

"What do we do now?"

Chuck's question hung on the air, and Beckman recalled her duty. She drew in a deep breath- _no, I will not cry yet_ -forced calmness into her voice.

"We give his body to the magnetite," she said. "That _is_ what he wanted."

"Wait," Woodcomb cleared his throat. "He wanted me to give the cross back to Dr. Scully."

"Do that," Beckman watched as the doctor gently lifted the dead man's head, undoing the cross at the back of his neck. Then, with the cross safely in his pocket, he gently set Casey's head back on the pillow. Now, he turned to Chuck Bartowski.

"Okay, he said. "Let's do this…"

"Right…" Chuck moved to lift Casey's shoulders, Woodcomb lifted his legs. Together they carried the body those few short feet to the wall of magnetite ore. After they had lain Casey down, Chuck took a quick minute to compose the dead man's body into an attitude of rest, hands folded calmly at the breast.

Thank God Casey was already dead. He didn't feel it as the magnetite did its awful work. Soon, there was nothing left of the man Beckman had come to trust, respect, and-yes!-love. The rock had taken him into itself; and there, he would be safe, forevermore, from those who created Super Soldiers…

General Beckman came to attention, honoring-the only way she knew how-the man whose love of country-and devotion to duty-knew no bounds.

Then, she felt gentle hands turning her around, bringing her into a gentle embrace; and she could hear Chuck Bartowski's weeping…

_Yes…she decided. Now, I can mourn…_

* * *

It was a somber trio that made it back to Burbank, parking the SUV next to a roofless minivan in front of the Orange Orange.

Chuck rested his head against the steering wheel for a second. When he lifted his head, he saw Sarah Walker, followed by the FBI folks-Reyes, Doggett, and Scully-stepping out of the yogurt shop.

"He's dead?"

It was Doggett who spoke.

"He's dead," Beckman affirmed. "And safe in the magnetite ore. They can't get to him there."

"I'm sorry," Doggett closed his eyes in pain. "It's my fault he's dead. They used me to get to him…"

"Don't blame yourself, Agent Doggett," Beckman spoke sharply. "I've come to realize they would've found him sooner or later. But, you helped us all do what had to be done. Knowle died free because of you."

"Dr. Scully," Devon walked up to her, holding her cross. "He wanted me to say thank you for him. I think it gave him peace, in the end."

Scully nodded as she took her cross back, tears glittering in her eyes.

Sarah Walker had simply walked right into Chuck's arms, and he held her close, both of them weeping…

_Yeah…_ Chuck admitted to himself. _Our big, snarky, older brother is dead…_

"Devon! Thank god you're back!"

Ellie Woodcomb's voice brought everyone around. She was running up, followed by Big Mike and Morgan Grimes.

"I've been trying to call you, Devon," Ellie accused. "But you left your phone off."

Chuck swallowed his grief by main force. He could cry later, but, right now, he had to be there just in case Devon floundered with the cover story that had been decided on.

"Sorry, Babe," Devon hesitated until Chuck gave him a barely perceptible nod.

"It's John Casey," the doctor explained, launching the cover story. "We thought it was just a concussion. But, two nights ago, he suffered a severe inter-cranial hemorrhage. They had to put him on total life support. They…declared him...brain-dead yesterday, and his…Aunt…had him taken off life support. He's dead, Ellie."

"Oh, my god…"Ellie whispered, eyes welling.

"Dude," Morgan Grimes was stunned. "Casey can't be dead. He's like the Great Wall of China, or the Pyramids. He just can't-"

"Morgan," Chuck interrupted. "I was there, buddy. I saw him die."

"Damn…" Big Mike closed his eyes briefly, opened them. "He was a good man, a shining example to all the newbies and slackers at the Buy More."

The Store Manager looked at General Beckman.

"You must be his family."

"His Aunt," Beckman held out a hand, forced a wan smile. "Diane Beckman."

"Ms. Beckman," Big Mike took her hand, bowed over it like a courtly gentleman. "I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Beckman said simply.

* * *

After all the farewells had been made-the FBI Agents off to Quantico, Ellie and Awesome gone home to grieve over the death of their enigmatic neighbor, and Big Mike and Morgan Grimes back to the Buy More to inform the crew that one of their own was dead-Sarah Walker accompanied Chuck Bartowski down to the bowels of the yogurt shop, where the Castle lay hidden.

General Beckman, still wearing her denims, looked like death warmed over, dark rings circling her eyes. She was staring meditatively into her cup of tea.

"I lied…" she said at last.

"You…lied…" Walker raised an eyebrow, not really in any kind of mood for further upheavals.

"Yes, agent Walker," Beckman looked her square in the eye. "I led everyone to believe we had won the war against the Alien Colonists."

""We're…losing?"

The horror was clear in Chuck's voice and eyes. Beckman sighed, rubbed her eyes tiredly.

"We've managed to fight them to a standstill," she explained. "But this isn't a war we _can_ win. The best we can do is to push their invasion date back, fight for some extra time. And we've done that. I'm told we've managed to push the date from twenty-twelve all the way up to around twenty-fifty…"

"So, Casey died in vain?"

Walker felt ill at the thought.

"No, Agent Walker," Beckman tapped the table, commanding their attention. "Our scientists in the NSA are hard at work, even as I speak; creating what Agent Bartowski might call…Starship engines."

"No way…" Chuck breathed, awe in his eyes. "You've found habitable planets?"

"Quite a few, which we have kept secret." Beckman nodded. "The survival of humanity is paramount. So…may I count of both of you?"

"Through thick and thin," Chuck answered promptly. "Sarah?

"You can count me in, too." Walker replied.

_Anything to make sure Casey's sacrifice isn't in vain…_

Beckman had risen to her feet.

"Wait," Walker stood, Chuck an instant behind her. "You must be tired. I'm sure we could put you up for the night."

"I'm afraid there's no rest for the wicked," Beckman halted her. "I have the sorrowful duty of informing the Colonel's mother of his demise."

"Which mother," Chuck asked. "He does have two…"

That brought a grim smile to Beckman's lips.

"Why, Agent Bartowski," she said. "I intend to tell both of them…"

* * *

The flight back to DC had been long, so General Diane Beckman took the time to get some sleep, and requisition a General's Uniform. Upon landing, she gave a squad of MPs some very precise instructions. Then, she had her driver take her to her first appointment.

Helen Casey's housekeeper/Companion opened the door at Beckman's knock.

"General Beckman! We weren't expecting you," the woman said. "Please come in and I'll let Mrs. Casey know you're here."

Beckman waited in the living room, looked at the scores of photos on the walls and tables. The photos of Helen's son ranged his entire life; from the obligatory naked newborn, sturdy toddler, gangly teen, to Military Cadet and Colonel; all the stages of John Casey's life, and only Beckman knew it had taken two men to live that life…

"Diane!"

Beckman turned, forcing a sad smile.

"It's a surprise to be seeing you here," the older woman said. "So, what brings you here all unannounced…"

Her voice faltered. She wasn't a stupid woman, after all.

"My Johnny-Boy?"

Beckman sighed, and took Helen's hands.

"You know what he does," she said softly. "What the dangers are…"

Helen's face crumpled.

"Johnny's dead?"

"I'm sorry," Beckman drew her close, into a hug. "There was a bomb…"

Beckman hated lying to Helen about the particulars of her son's death. But, a bomb was the only plausible excuse she could come up with to explain away the fact that there wasn't going to be a tangible body to bury. For now, she held the other woman as she cried over her dead son.

Later, that duty done, General Beckman had her driver take her to a secure NSA Holding Facility. There, waiting for her in a dim, tiny little cell, was Patricia Rohrer, her silver hair artfully coiffed, expensive clothes and jewelry on her person.

The files told Beckman that Patricia had remarried about ten years after Justin Rohrer's death, and remarried _well_. Her second husband, an Englishman with well-manicured hands, had died unexpectedly-a car explosion-in the late Nineties; leaving her in a position of great wealth. Now, in DC's circles of the wealthy elite, she was considered something of a martyr; what with two husbands killed-one in a…questionable…car accident, the second in an even more questionable exploding car-and her only child-Knowle Rohrer-murdered by the "insane" ex-FBI Agent Fox William Mulder, it certainly looked like Patricia Rohrer had experienced more than her fair share of personal tragedy.

_But I know the truth,_ Beckman reminded herself.

"Hello, Mrs. Rohrer," Beckman entered the cell, heard the cell door slide shut behind her.

"What's the meaning of this?"

The woman gestured angrily at the cell.

"I was led to believe there was some new information regarding my late son."

"Oh, very definitely yes," Beckman purred. "Did you know the man Fox Mulder allegedly murdered was a clone, and also a Super soldier?"

"A…clone? "

Mrs. Rohrer wrinkled her brow in apparent confusion.

"Don't play the innocent with me," Beckman snapped. "Your brother stood high in the Consortium's ranks; as did your second husband. You know what they did to your son when you gave him to the Aliens in Nineteen Seventy-Three, at El Rico."

"Then you know we had no choice," Mrs. Rohrer flared right back.

"Let me tell you what I know," Beckman leaned forward, causing Mrs. Rohrer to rear back. "A fine, upstanding, patriotic child was given to aliens, and subjected to what can only be called torture..."

"Wait! You said he was a clone," Mrs. Rohrer interrupted. "Knowle's not dead?"

Her eyes closed in relief.

"Could I talk to him please," she asked. "So I can explain to him why-"

Beckman's right hand lashed out, a back-handed smack to the face, and Mrs. Rohrer's hand went to her left cheek, shock in her eyes...

Beckman felt a grim sense of satisfaction.

_Damned bitch had it coming…_

"You aren't going to talk to _anyone,_ " Beckman ground the words out. "You are going to sit in this cell for the rest of your pathetic little life."

"You can't keep me here!" Mrs. Rohrer cried. "I have rights!"

"So did your son, Knowle Rohrer," Beckman spat. "Your child had the right to grow up in a safe environment. He had the right to expect that his own mother would protect him; not toss him to the wolves the way you did. He's dead, by the way, of an Alien virus; one of the bravest men I've ever had the honor of serving with. You can sit here and rot, for all I care."

Beckman rapped on the cell door, and it slid open. Before she stepped out, she turned to Mrs. Rohrer one last time.

"It's time for you to reflect on your sins against your son," she said, staring into Mrs. Rohrer's appalled eyes. "Goodbye."

She stepped out of the cell, and, as the door slid shut, she heard Mrs. Rohrer.

"We didn't have any choice! They would've destroyed the world. For the love of God, please let me out!"

General Beckman turned away, and walked down the long hall. From now on, apart from all her usual duties, she also had a war-a secret war-to manage.

_Thank God for Chuck Bartowski…_

The Human Intersect would be her greatest weapon during this time…


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Afterward...

_2042 AD_

Chuck Bartowski had taken the time from his many duties, to pay his respects to a long-dead friend. He could have gone to Arlington National Cemetery; a flag-draped coffin bearing John Casey's name had been buried there, a tombstone erected stating his Dates of Birth and death, and bearing the inscription, _Semper Fi_. The only thing missing from that plot of earth was the remains of the man himself…

Which was why Chuck came _here_ ; to this un-named wall of magnetite ore. He had started coming here on the first anniversary of John Casey's death, and it had, somehow, become a yearly ritual. He would bring a bottle of _Belvenie Doublewood_ , a handful of Costa Gravan cigars, and spend the night talking his head off. He could almost hear the Colonel grinding his teeth at what he might have called the "never-ending yap". But Chuck was also pretty sure he would have appreciated the scotch and cigars…

"Hey, big guy…"Chuck laid the scotch and cigars just in front of the blank-faced rocky wall. Hands free, his fingers touched the wall of magnetite, now warm in the afternoon sun's rays. His hands ran over the visible signs of drilling in the wall, feeling a touch of anger.

_All those years of selfless service and they still won't let him rest…_

He had noticed the signs of drilling way back in 2015, and passed that disturbing bit of information on to General Diane Beckman…

_2017 AD_

"Your fears concerning Colonel Casey's remains have been proven to be well-founded," General Beckman had informed him, and Sarah Walker, during one of their briefings at the Castle.

"Yes," Sarah Walker now was wearing both Engagement Ring, and Wedding Band, on her finger. "Did they find him? Are they going to make a Super Soldier out of him?"

"It doesn't seem to be the Alien Colonists this time," Beckman assured them. "There are several different organizations helping us prepare for the coming Diaspora; some of which have plans for a later return to take the planet back from the aliens. My sources tell me it is one of those organizations that have gained access to Colonel Casey's genetic material. The experts think they plan to make a…weapon…of some sort; although I am at a loss as to what kind of weapon they could make out of him."

"They would have to clone him to do whatever it is that they want to do with him," by now, through the good graces of the Intersect, Chuck Bartowski now knew more about the Alien Visitors than any other living human being.

"Yes," Beckman nodded. "But, I don't think they'll be able to do this right away. First, there's getting safely off the Earth, and getting to another planet, and that won't be easy."

Fortunately, the NSA scientists had located a score of planets that were-mostly-habitable. Thanks to Beckman's hard-headedness, the locations of those planets-even their very existence-had been kept secret. All that remained was the work of building enough starships, and workable starship engines, to get as many humans off the planet as possible. Certainly, there had been millions of donations of frozen sperm and eggs-not to mention embryos, hidden away for the Diaspora.

Beckman intended to make sure the human species survived, and thrived, away from Earth…

"How about when we get to, and colonize whatever planets we find?"

Sarah sat up straight as she spoke; but Chuck could only shake his head.

"It will take a while even after that," he said. "First, they'll have to settle, and organize, the planet. Getting a society together that has time to worry about other things beside the basics will take some time; especially if you consider how we humans always seem to want to fight over anything."

"Agent Charles Bartowski is right," Beckman said, looking at the only two agents she trusted. "By the time this society is ready to even look at making any kind of clone, several hundreds of years could have elapsed. And-agents- _that_ is the problem. By the time Colonel Casey's clone is likely to be created, there won't be anyone with any reason to want to help him. He will be alone in the world, with only his creators to look to; and I can't vouch for their intentions…"

Which, Chuck knew, was just about as wrong as wrong could get…

"There's got to be something we can do," he muttered.

"There might be something," there was that steely glint in Beckman's eyes again. "But, if you wish to chance it, Chuck, it will be costly to you, as a human being."

"What is it?"

"Ironically, some lines of research on immortality have begun to bear fruit," Beckman looked him in the eye. "But, only in certain, very limited cases."

"Immortality…" Chuck raised an eyebrow. "As in maybe living forever?"

"It could be," Beckman nodded. "But, it looks like only people with certain, very specific genetic traits can benefit from the treatment. You fit the genetic profile to a T. Your wife, Sarah, however, does _not_ , and that is the cost to you."

"Sarah would grow old and die, but I wouldn't?"

That was rather a steep price to pay for immortality.

"If it's any comfort, I don't have the right genes either," Beckman's smile was crooked. "Although I have been told my brain has been judged worthy of use in the coming singularity."

"You're going to turn your mind into an AI?"

Chuck couldn't believe his ears.

"It won't be _me_ , precisely," Beckman admitted. "But she'll have all my memories, and the capacity to live for millennia. I will not let a clone of Colonel John Casey come into this world-or any other world-without someone to help him."

Chuck nodded. It was Diane Beckman's loyalty-to those living and dead-that made him love her. He looked at his wife, Sarah Bartowski nee Walker-mother of their twins-John C., and Eleanor D.-reached out and clasped her hand. Sarah looked back at him, shining love in her eyes.

"I could live forever," he said. "But, without you, it wouldn't be a life."

"I know," Sarah nodded gravely. "But John Casey's clone will be all alone. John sacrificed his life to keep the world safe. If it's necessary to sacrifice your death to help his clone, then you should. He's worth it, isn't he?"

There was only one possible answer to her question.

"Hell, yeah!"

"Then, do it," Sarah's eyes fixed upon his. "Be there for him; the way John was always there for us."

_2042 AD_

"So, big guy…"Chuck spoke to the wall of magnetite. "This is going to be my last visit…"

He wiped the tears away, continued to speak.

"We're leaving the Earth now, and I wish I could quote Arnie and say, _I'll be back_ , but I don't know. By leaving, we're trying to make sure humanity survives, and-who knows?-maybe we will come back and kick the alien invaders out on their asses. Anyway, I miss you, always will…"

There was the rumbling sound of a shuttlecraft in the distance, getting closer.

"Hey, buddy," Chuck looked up at the sky. "That's my flight, so I gotta go. Someday, if there's a heaven, we'll talk over scotch and cigars. Viya con Dios, Casey…"

The shuttle came down, landing several feet away. The hatch popped open as Chuck trotted up, and a young Lieutenant poked his head out.

"Sir," he called out. "It's time to go."

"Yeah," Chuck clambered aboard. "I was just making my farewells to an old friend."

"That's where _he_ died?"

"Yes," Chuck buckled himself in. "We're going to the mother ship?"

"Uh…" the young man was a moment understanding. "Ah…yes, sir."

The shuttle lifted, and Chuck looked down at that wall of magnetite ore as it fell away from his sight.

_Good bye John…_

"I think you'll like the…uh…mother ship very much," the Lieutenant said as the shuttle headed up, out of the Earth's atmosphere.

"Oh?"

Now, they were out in true space, the shuttle joining a convoy of similar shuttles, all heading for this…monstrous behemoth.

"There he is," the Lieutenant pointed at the…ship?"

"Don't you mean _she_ , Lieutenant? Every ship I've ever heard of has always been she."

"Not this one," the Lieutenant smiled; and now Chuck could see why. His throat tightened with unshed tears as he saw the lettering on the mighty starship's hull…

_USAF ALPHA-01 JOHN CASEY_

"The John Casey carries a crew of 2000, and also carries cryobeds for 10,000 sleepers, and one of the very first truly sentient AI Controllers. We're ready to berth, sir. Also, you've been invited to the Bridge at your earliest convenience."

Chuck, listening to the Lieutenant, just let the tears run down.

_Hey, big guy, they named a starship after you…_

Later, when all the shuttles were berthed, when everyone-except for Chuck Bartowski-was safely in cryosleep, Chuck walked down to the Bridge, to pay his respects to the Captain of the John Casey; an AI that he knew quite well. He stared at the holographic representation of the AI, and it was like coming home…

"Hello Diane," he smiled.

"Hello, Chuck," Diane smiled back. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Chuck nodded. "Unleash the Casey."

With that, the John Casey turned away from Earth, abandoning humanity's mother planet to the Alien invaders, carrying his infinitely precious cargo to a better place…

* * *

_2502 AD_

It very nearly didn't happen at all…

First, there had been the series of small wars and skirmishes that marked the unification of the Core Worlds. The leaders of the Core Worlds had forgotten the true reason for their departure from Earth-That-Was, apparently preferring to believe Earth's ruin had been caused by humanity itself.

But, there were those, hidden from the public eye, which knew otherwise, and were preparing just in case the Great Enemy came to attack them here as well…

One group of their scientists had recently come into possession of the genetic material of a man dead for over five hundred years; a man who just might be a weapon against said alien invaders…

The cloning process had been an arduous one. Most of the fetuses had spontaneously aborted, with a few surviving, but with pernicious defects requiring euthanasia; the magnetite in their blood and cells impeded proper development. But, one fetus made it all the way through, with no defects at all, and was born live, in 2502 AD; a fine, strapping baby boy…

"Eleven pounds, thirteen ounces," a nurse weighed the wriggling infant, spoke over his lusty wailing. "He's going to be a big one…"

"Entirely in accord with what is known of the original," the man in charge said. "Finally, a success!"

Soon, the baby was placed in the incubator, and the man stepped up to it, looking down at the child, a blue-eyed angel, sleeping the sleep of the truly innocent,

This child was special, very special indeed.

First changed by the Alien invaders who wished to use him for their ends, and then changed further by the magnetite in every cell of his body…

On the man's orders, still more changes had been worked on the baby, especially in the cellular structure of his brain.

The man bent over this incubator, stroking the baby's cheek with a finger.

What will you be capable of… he wondered.

We'll find out, he shrugged. Well find out, indeed…

_fin_

_A sequel will be forthcoming, so stay tuned for "A Mercenary's Tale"..._


End file.
